


Maneater

by InAWorldOfMyOwn



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Horror, Romance, Smut, Suspense, Thriller
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-14
Updated: 2014-07-14
Packaged: 2018-02-08 20:10:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 26,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1954674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InAWorldOfMyOwn/pseuds/InAWorldOfMyOwn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I never imagined I might witness a violent crime - least of all that it would be against anyone I knew. I wouldn't have known then where it would lead me. How could I? I barely spoke to the man I sat in that room with. I imagine even then he had plans for me. I was always going to wind up at his table and somehow... I think he knew it. HannibalXOC</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> OC bio: Keeran Lovett, age 27, 5'9", blue-green eyes, dark brown hair

My heels clicked softly on the cement as I strolled down the sidewalk. I glanced down at the glistening casserole dishes in my arms. I didn't see my grandmother very often, so when she asked a favor of me I had been quick to oblige. I was beginning to wish that I had either worn different shoes or taken the initiate to drive down the block. My feet didn't wear heels well, particularly not when a lot of walking was involved. I didn't have the arches for it. I squinted in the sunlight, shifting the weight of the increasingly heavy glass. I hadn't seen the Hobbs family since I had just begun to hit puberty, so I wasn't entirely sure that they would recognize me. A lot had changed in fifteen years [the Mohawk, piercings, and tattoos being some of the visible changes]. Still, I had been a babysitter to their daughter Abigail for an entire summer, so maybe my face had stuck enough.

A familiar porch was slowly drawing closer. I felt anxious and I couldn't explain why. They weren't complete strangers, though I supposed that with the amount of time that had passed they might as well have been. I turned into the driveway and took a deep breath to calm myself as I marched up the walkway. I rehearsed in my head how I would greet them, how I might refresh their memories of my existence. I nodded once, feeling quite sure of myself. I had barely taken a step across the porch when the front door opened. I smiled instinctively, assuming someone had either heard me coming or that someone was about to head out the door anyway. Mrs. Hobbs staggered out the door clutching her throat. My smile cracked and fell away. I saw the blood covering her body, but it didn't click in my head right away. I dropped the casserole dishes I was holding to cover my mouth with my hands. They hit the porch and shattered from the force. Mrs. Hobbs reached out a bloody hand to me. I didn't know what to do.

I shrugged out of my cardigan as quickly as I could and pressed it against her neck. I tried my very hardest not to look too long at the gaping slash beforehand. My stomach was doing somersaults, the taste of bile lingering at the back of my throat. She was making strangled gurgles and gasps for air. I pressed harder, panic shooting through my veins. Her hands fluttered helplessly, clutching at my forearms. She opened and closed her mouth a few times like she was trying to say something. I shook my head, floundering for something – anything – to say. The choking suddenly ceased, her hands slowing in their frantic movements before stopping all together. I froze, cradling Mrs. Hobbs in my lap. I inhaled sharply as I gazed down at her expressionless face. I could see the life leaving her eyes, a cold feeling settling into my chest. What the hell was going on in there? I looked around myself, trying to gather my thoughts. They felt as scattered as the hunks of broken glass. I carefully pushed myself to my feet and approached the front door. I stood there staring at it for a long while. My shaking hand was hovering over the doorknob. I was debating with myself whether or not I should check to see if everyone else was okay or if I should just run for help. I didn't have my cell phone with me. I didn't think I'd need it. The longer I stood there with my back to her lifeless corpse, the more time I had to picture something happening to Abigail and Mr. Hobbs because I had stood outside the front door taking too long to make a damn decision. I swallowed hard and closed my hand around the knob. I was a little surprised, for some reason, to find that it wasn't locked. I pushed the door open and looked around the hallway. A trail of blood led away from the front door. I stepped in, looking at the pictures decorating the walls. It felt like I was seeing ghosts. I could hear Abigail giggling and running through the house, smell the grill going out back… I could even taste the tartness of the lemonade Mrs. Hobbs made for us all summer.

"Abigail?" I called out reluctantly. I hated to make my presence known, but if I could distract away from her I would. "Mr. Hobbs? It's Keeran. What's going on? Is anyone else hurt?"

In the silence that ensued, I heard muffled sobbing. I swiftly followed the faint sound of it into the kitchen. I wasn't sure what to expect, but seeing Mr. Hobbs with a knife to his daughter's throat was definitely so far from my mind that for a few seconds it didn't even register. I blinked in surprise and raised my hands submissively, taking a step back. The look in his eyes was what terrified me most. He looked crazed – a man who had run out of options; and that meant he was dangerous and unpredictable. I exhaled slowly. They really don't prepare you to deal with these kinds of situations in life. I felt like anything I had to say wasn't going to do. I tried to force a smile, but I wasn't too convinced that it came out right.

"Hi, Mr. Hobbs," I said in a conversational tone. "Do you remember me?" His wide, animal eyes passed over me for a few seconds before he shook his head and took a step back, pulling Abigail with him. "I-I'm Barbara's granddaughter? I babysat for you one summer back when I was maybe thirteen or fourteen?"

He nodded, seemingly recollecting. "You shouldn't have come here."

I heard someone on the porch, and footsteps in the hall a moment later. "Garrett Jacob Hobbs?" a man's voice called out. "FBI."

Mr. Hobbs looked from the entry to the hallway, to me, and back again. Abigail looked at me with tears in her eyes. I wanted to tell her it would be okay, but my tongue suddenly seemed made of lead. I felt powerless. A few seconds later a man came around the corner, gun raised and pointed at Mr. Hobbs. The two stared each other down for several long seconds. I saw Mr. Hobbs' arm tense and knew what he was going to do before he had quite moved. I gasped and reached a hand out to Abigail like that would help her, shield her in some way. Mr. Hobbs slashed upward at the same instant the man beside me shot him. I jumped, my ears ringing. Abigail collapsed, a spray of red painting the kitchen in her wake. I couldn't help the horrified cry that escaped my body. When Mr. Hobbs didn't go down with the first shot, the man shot him again – and again and again. I counted eight shots all together. It all happened so quickly. Mr. Hobbs collapsed against the counters and hit the floor. The man beside me ran to Abigail's side, trying to stem the flow of blood gushing from her neck just like her mother's. I stood there, petrified, looking down at my shaking, blood covered hands. For a moment I couldn't hear anything but the blood rushing in my ears and a faint continuous ringing. I felt like I was going to be sick or pass out; maybe both. I could feel the small spasm of one of the minor muscles in my left forearm.

 _Not now_ , I begged.  _Not here_. I closed my eyes to focus on steadying my breathing – I was about to start hyperventilating. With the absence of imagery, the noises of my surroundings came slamming back. Abigail was making wet-sounding gasps for air. I pictured her mother on the front porch frantically clinging to my arms, the look of terror in her eyes before it fled, her blood staining the wood she had taken such good care of over the years. There was movement in the room. Abigail sounded just as scared. I wondered if she was going to die, too. I'd left my cardigan on the front porch. Once I had counted to six in my head and taken the number of deep, slow breaths to match, I opened my eyes. A new man was in the room; one hand was clasped securely around Abigail's throat, the other supported her head. The first man looked just as scatter brained as I must – maybe more. I looked back down at my still shaking hands feeling a little dazed. On the bright side, it seemed as though I had successfully managed to detach myself from the situation. I had a strong urge to walk straight home and go right to bed. Instead, I pulled up a chair and started taking off my shoes. I wanted to go to Abigail and quite frankly I didn't want to break my ankle slipping or worse, fall right on top of the poor girl. The two men in the room looked up at me curiously as I sat there muttering to myself.

"I really did love this dress," I said quietly. It was a vintage style pinup dress – white with a large black floral pattern and a black mesh petticoat underneath. Naturally, the dress was more red than white at the moment. "Maybe I can salvage it… I wonder how the drycleaner would feel about cleaning it…"

I shook my head and stood up, setting my shoes neatly by the chair. I pushed a few stray strands of hair back out of my face and rubbed my temples. Granted I was probably rubbing blood all over my face, I just couldn't bring myself to care about that at the moment. I looked down at Abigail for a few seconds, wiggling my toes against the cold tile. I hadn't seen her since she was just a child. Seeing her choking on her own blood like this was mortifying. I crossed to her side, biting my tongue at the squelch beneath my bare feet. I told myself to pretend someone had spilled paint. It seemed to work pretty well, other than the heavy metallic scent in the air. I tucked my dress under myself as I kneeled on the floor and sat back on my feet. She looked up at me, but I wasn't sure if she was actually seeing me. I forced another smile and took her hand, giving it a light squeeze.

"Who are you?"

I looked up at the man I hoped was saving Abigail's life. Goodness he was a pretty little thing. The accent didn't hurt. His dark blonde hair was parted and in place perfectly. Though his expression remained relatively blank, his honey brown eyes shone with a dazzling wit as they probed mine. The question itself was innocent enough, but I sensed a slight hostility in the way he observed me. I swallowed hard and averted my gaze.

"Keeran Lovett," I replied in what I hoped was an even tone. He waited a moment as though he expected me to offer more information than that. When I didn't he continued.

"And what were you doing here?"

I looked at his hands rather than focus on his face or hers. He had lovely hands, too, so it really wouldn't have been a much better option if it weren't for all the blood. "My grandmother is a friend of the family. She lives right down the street. She asked me to return some Pyrex dishes to Mrs. Hobbs. I dropped them, obviously. That's why there's glass all over the front porch." I glanced down at myself and then back to Abigail with a frail smile. "Christ, she'll have a heart attack if she sees us like this, won't she?"

I listened to the sirens wailing in the distance, growing louder as they drew closer and closer. I glanced up at movement. The first man was wiping his blood-soaked hands on his jeans. I had the distinct impression that his mind wasn't really present at the moment, if his glazed eyes and vacant expression were any indication. My eyes fell on Mr. Hobbs – all the bullet holes in his chest slowly oozing blood, the same empty look in his eyes I had seen in his wife's. Abigail had just lost both of her parents in under ten minutes. I blinked hard, frowning down at my hands. What was going to happen to her after this? Sure she was old enough to live on her own, but… Jesus, would she be okay to? I watched the fingers expertly controlling the blood attempting to spurt from Abigail's neck for a few minutes longer before I shifted my gaze to his face. I bit my tongue, gathering the courage to speak.

"I'm sorry ahead of time if this sounds rude," I started off cautiously, "but do you mind my asking who you are?"

His lips twitched slightly, offering a momentary wry smile. "Dr. Hannibal Lecter. William Graham is working with the FBI."

He nodded to the first man who had entered the room. I glanced over at him and nodded my understanding. Will still looked like he was in a bit of shock. Understandably, he had just shot a man. I tried not to look back at Mr. Hobbs, though my curiosity was eating away at me. Why was the FBI showing up at their house? I closed my eyes to avoid it, as well as saving myself the discomfort of finding a suitable location to rest my gaze. As I stroked the back of her hand, I quietly hummed Hushabye Mountain to her. It was the only comfort I could think to offer, though I wasn't entirely sure it wasn't more for my benefit than for hers. I rocked back and forth, getting lost in the rhythm. Several long minutes passed with her choking and my humming before the paramedics began to arrive. They quickly filled the kitchen, taking over any free space left. I apologized for being in the way and excused myself, moving to retrieve my shoes. I watched them patch her up as best as they could on the spot before putting her on a stretcher to wheel her out. I brushed along, making my way toward the front door. I paused in the doorway to slip my bloody feet back into my shoes. I tread carefully across the chunks of glass, keeping my gaze straight ahead so I wouldn't be tempted to look down at Mrs. Hobbs again. I was edging my way around the gruesome scene keeping my eyes on the ceiling instead when I took notice of a hand being held out to me.

I looked down at Dr. Lecter, offering me one of his miraculously clean hands [how he had managed to do so that quickly was beyond me]. I smiled grimly and thanked him, hesitantly slipping my fingers within his grasp. He helped me pass over the glass in a few hopping steps and without incident, for which I was very grateful. His eyes locked with mine, holding my gaze for several long seconds. Though again his expression gave nothing away, I got the distinct impression that he was sizing me up, trying to tell if I was lying about anything or not. I don't know why he thought I might have anything to hide. His gaze though brief was intense enough to make me blush. As soon as he released my hand, I looked away and shook my head. Still a bit dazed, I followed the EMT's toward the ambulance. A man who looked to be in his late forties intercepted me almost immediately. Judging by the suit, I guessed he was either with the police or the FBI. I pursed my lips and impatiently watched them load Abigail into the ambulance. Dr. Lecter joined her, glancing at me one last time before the doors closed. I sighed in defeat, feeling the great urge to simply drag both my hands down my face, go home, and take a long, steamy shower.

"Jack Crawford," he said, instinctively reaching his hand out before retracting it awkwardly once he thought better of it. "Miss Lovett, is it?" I nodded. "I'm with the FBI, head of the department. I understand this may not be a good time, but I need you to come in for questioning."

I looked frantically from my red hands to anything I could clean them on. I gave a frustrated growl and took a deep breath to calm my nerves. I could feel the pounding of my heart all the way up in my throat, choking me, the blood rushing through my veins, what felt like every nerve ending firing in my brain at the same time. It took a few seconds for me to collect my thoughts again.

"What for? Are you arresting me?"

His gaze was steely, calculating. "Not yet. However, you have managed to find yourself in the middle of a crime scene covered with the blood of one of the victims. I understand that you were in this state before my men arrived. Only Abigail Hobbs can corroborate what really happened and at this point it's not a guarantee that she is going to live to do so."

I blinked at his bluntness and lack of tact. I clenched my jaw, giving him the benefit of the doubt. He didn't know that I was acquainted with the family. From the sound of it, maybe it was best that way. I looked down, rubbing my hands together. "So you're temporarily taking away my freedom for the sake of your investigation, is that what this is?" I looked back up at him when he didn't respond. I shook my head. "Where do I have to go?"

"Our base is located in Quantico, Virginia. We'll provide your transportation."

"Are you kidding? What about my car? My luggage? I don't live here, you know. I'm just visiting."

"I apologize for the inconvenience, but I'm afraid I must insist. We'll make arrangements for your belongings."

I sighed and rubbed my temples. "And my grandma? What are you going to tell her? Jesus, she's… She must be worried. I was only planning to be gone a few minutes."

"We'll be as delicate as possible, I assure you."

I looked around, chewing my lip. There really was no way around this, was there? I growled and pinched the bridge of my nose. "Fine. Do I at least get to shower?"

He smiled tautly. "Once we get samples of the blood off your body we can get you cleaned up. Unfortunately, your clothing will be confiscated as evidence."

I laughed dryly and shook my head. "Of course it will. Let's get this going then, I suppose."

He nodded. "We'll get that all sorted out."

He held his arm out in a sweeping motion, gesturing to the black SUV behind him. I sighed and shuffled for the back door. Someone standing nearby opened it for me. Touching as few things as possible, I stepped up and slid into the leather seat. I closed my eyes and focused on staying as calm as I could while I waited patiently for Mr. Crawford. It was less than easy to ignore the gating between my seat and his, but at least he hadn't put me in handcuffs. I wasn't under arrest, I supposed, so there wasn't exactly a reason for him to. Still, just being in the back of a cruiser like this made me nervous. We drove for a short while. I wasn't sure if he intended to drive the whole way. I tried to shrug it off and not care. When I heard the sound of a helicopter, I sat up a little straighter. I'd never flown in one before. Sure enough, we drew closer and closer until we were just a short distance away from the helipad. Mr. Crawford looked back at me.

"Someone will be accompanying you on the trip," he said over the noise as he opened his door. "I'll be meeting you there for questioning. I have business to take care of here beforehand."

He opened my door for me, as I assumed it wouldn't open from within. I slid out, cradling my arms to my chest. I didn't want to touch anything. Once I was out, Mr. Crawford held up a pair of handcuffs with an empathetic look.

"I'm sorry to have to do this," he continued. "It's just a precaution."

I looked from them to him and set my jaw. I didn't have anything more to say. I held out my hands willingly. No need to make this any more unpleasant than it already was. He apologized again, fastening the cool metal around my wrists. At least he didn't make them too tight. He led me to the helicopter and spoke for a moment to the pilot as the agent beside me fastened my seatbelt. He shut the door and I closed my eyes as we shakily lifted off the ground. I exhaled slowly, trying to make myself comfortable for what would undoubtedly be a very long flight.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Hannibal** _

_He heard the gunshot from the front yard, a pleased grin spreading across his face. He took his time moving up the porch, pausing to look down at the woman lying in a pool of blood and broken glass. He looked at the pictures on the walls as he walked down the hallway, exploring the faces behind the glass. He very clearly recalled only one child in the photographs, so it was a bit of a shock to see two more women in the room. Will was doing a clumsy job of stemming the blood flow from a slash on the throat of the young girl Hannibal recognized from the photographs. The second – a young woman several years older than the former - was standing to the side, her white patterned dress coated heavily with blood. She was watching the scene unfold with a glazed expression. She seemed to be in shock. He hesitated a moment, taking in this new information. He hadn't planned on anyone else being present at the Hobbs resident. He stepped forward, moving around the island in the middle of the kitchen to firmly place his hand around the neck of the girl choking on the floor. He cradled her head with his free hand, glancing up at Will as he scuttled away looking quite shaken._

_He knelt there, waiting patiently for the paramedics to arrive. He glanced up at the girl across the room from him as she proceeded to take deep breaths. The tattoos covering her arms and neck, along with the Mohawk she was wearing in a long French braid down her back, the hoop through her septum, and the stud in her labret, painted a peculiar image with the pinup style dress she was wearing. She finally opened her eyes, looking about the room with that same dazed look. She fixed her gaze on him momentarily before pulling up a chair to lean against. Hannibal watched, his curiosity growing, as she unfastened her white heels and abandoned them by the chair. All the while she was muttering to herself about her dress, even managing to make fun of the fact that she was covered in blood [something he obviously took note of]. She rubbed her temples, smearing blood in the wake of her fingertips. He forced down a wave of excitement at the sight of it, fighting the thought to find it so visually pleasing. Nearly a minute passed as she anxiously stared down at the girl choking on the floor. He watched the way she curled and uncurled her toes against the tile floor instead. The tattoo across both of her feet – the grinning Cheshire cat – had his immediate attention. He gazed for several seconds at the elegant calligraphy that accompanied the image: "We're all mad here."_

_She finally made her way over to him [to the girl, rather, as she obviously knew her]. She made a face as she walked through the pooling blood, but she seemed to get past the feel of it. To his surprise, she sat right down on her knees beside him, easing herself more comfortably onto the floor. She smiled at the girl gasping for air, taking up her hand and squeezing it gently. It would be important to know who she was, should need arise in the future. At least that was how he reasoned asking for her name._

" _Who are you?" he asked abruptly._

_She looked up at him, apparently surprised that he was addressing her. Her eyes were an interesting shade of blue and green. In this lighting they shone like aquamarine. As they passed over him, he saw in them a more innocent curiosity than he knew to be behind his line of questioning. Once she met his gaze, she inhaled sharply and looked away. Her cheeks had a natural flush to them, but the scarlet in her ears gave away her blush._

" _Keeran Lovett," was the only response she gave._

_Hannibal waited patiently for her to say something more. She set her jaw. Clearly she was not going to be more forthcoming than that with any information. He almost laughed aloud at her gall._

" _And what were you doing here?" he pressed instead, biting back the urge to add that she clearly didn't belong there._

" _My grandmother is a friend of the family," she replied. "She lives right down the street. She asked me to return some Pyrex dishes to Mrs. Hobbs. I dropped them, obviously. That's why there's glass all over the front porch." She made a vague gesture to the front porch, looking down at herself. Mrs. Hobbs must have staggered into her. She looked back to the frightened girl, forcing a smile. "Christ, she'll have a heart attack if she sees us like this, won't she?"_

_Hannibal looked over to check on Will. For half a second he had almost forgotten he was there. He was huddled against the cabinet doors, quivering slightly as he stared around at all the blood [some of which had managed to splatter onto his glasses]. He could practically see his fragile state of mind beginning to crack. One simple action may prove to yield far more interesting results than he could have ever imagined. He glanced down to adjust his hand and then up to Keeran. She was watching the movement, a thoughtful expression settled on her face. After several moments of silence, she finally drew her eyes up to his. Seeing that he was watching, she averted her gaze to his lips instead. He smiled slightly, unable to entirely hide his amusement._

" _I'm sorry ahead of time if this sounds rude, but do you mind my asking who you are?" she asked hesitantly._

_His lips twitched. "Dr. Hannibal Lecter. William Graham is working with the FBI."_

_He nodded to Will, who gave no sign that he had heard the conversation. She nodded in response to signify that she understood and they fell silent. The sound of humming distracted him once more, drawing his gaze back to Keeran. Her thumb was tracing circles across the back of her young friend's hand in a soothing motion. Her eyes were closed, head lolling back carelessly as she hummed and rocked to the rhythm. Hannibal's eyes inadvertently traced the shape of her trachea, following it down to the supple curve of her collarbone. The sinuous musculature of her neck as she tilted her head lazily to the side was inexplicably enticing. He tightened his grip on the young girl's throat, struggling for a split second with the urge to release her and snatch up this strange creature seated beside him. The brilliant red covering her arms, chest, and face stood out in sharp contrast against her pale porcelain complexion, against her dark hair. A number of pleasing images flashed through his mind. Perhaps what surprised him most was that they didn't all include her cold corpse. Rather, one in particular required a very warm, very live touch._

_The arrival of the paramedics saved him from having to explore that explicit thought any further. Keeran swiftly moved out of the way, muttering an apology for being in the way. His watchful eyes followed her movement as she stooped to pick up her shoes and press herself into obscurity, lingering momentarily on the bloody footprints she left in her wake. He took a deep breath to recollect his thoughts and explain the situation to the slue of paramedics working to patch up the girl on the spot. He followed the stretcher out, taking a moment to carefully clean his hands. He searched the chaos to find her. His eyes settled upon her almost immediately as she awkwardly shuffled across the front porch. She was pressing herself against the wall, gaze cast toward the ceiling to avoid looking at the body of Mrs. Hobbs as she fumbled over the hunks of Pyrex. The way her knees shook like a fawn taking its first steps stirred something in his stomach – a not altogether unpleasant feeling, at that. He watched a moment longer, a predator observing its prey. Hannibal crossed the lawn to take her hand and help her cross. She blinked, looking down at the hand he was holding out to her with a confused frown. She shook her head, rousing herself from her presumably dark thoughts and muttered her thanks. She carefully slipped her fingers into his grasp. The touch, however slight, was overtly exciting. Her skin was warm, slick with blood that had yet to dry. He watched her hop across the porch in just a couple of easy steps, watched the way her calf muscles flexed as she moved. He focused on her face for a moment. Her expression remained relatively passive, though her brow was furrowed in thought. He could easily imagine what it was she was thinking about, though her body language, constantly changing, didn't necessarily belie her emotions. He felt a flicker of annoyance. She wasn't an easy read. The fluidity of her person was going to keep him on his toes._

_Her eyes darted over to meet his, surprised to see him gauging her so intensely. Now that she was safely on the sidewalk, he released her hand. She immediately averted her attention elsewhere. He watched the red creeping slowly up the side of her neck to her ears again. He smiled to himself, a small token of satisfaction. He joined the paramedics in the back of the ambulance, giving Keeran one last look. She may be of interest yet._

* * *

I sat up straight, wringing my hands in my lap. I could feel the grime – the blood – on them, on my dress, the way it clung to my body, made my shoes stick to my feet. The metallic scent of it had faded; or maybe I had adjusted to it. I lost track of how long we had been flying. It felt like hours. I didn't have a watch, so I had no idea what time it was. By the time we were landing the sun was creeping dangerously close to the horizon. I watched the clusters of buildings rising up to meet us. Once we touched down, I was led inside one of the many buildings. I felt more tired than ever. He opened the door for me and I slid out onto the pavement feeling more tired than ever. My head felt cottony and my eyelids were heavy. I felt like caving in on myself. Instead, I sucked it up and followed him in silence. I kept my eyes on my feet. I knew how horrific I must look. I didn't need the curious gazes of everyone we passed to tell me. I followed along impatiently down the dark marble halls until he seemingly found who he was looking for.

"Hey Miss Katz," he finally said. "Have you spoken with Mr. Crawford?"

I glanced around him at the woman he was speaking to. She was tall, probably only an inch or two shorter than me. Despite my obviously disheveled state, she offered me a genuinely warm smile.

"He called ahead to let me know you'd be coming," she replied. "Go on, I can handle it from here." She passed him by to usher me down the hallway. "What a shame… It's such a lovely dress!"

I laughed lightly. "Tell me about it…"

I let her take me down to a sanitary room where she explained she would be swabbing my skin and taking samples from under my nails. I pasted on a smile and tried to imagine that I was elsewhere, as I had been doing for a while now. The pace was grueling. The ticking of the clock on the wall grew increasingly louder with each passing hour. I just closed my eyes and tried to keep humming to myself. When it was all over, she took me to a facility shower to get cleaned up. I stood under the scalding water, my body shaking as I watched the red swirl around my feet until the water started to run cold. A pair of sweatpants, socks, underwear, a sweatshirt, and even a pair of crocs was waiting for me when I got out. Thankfully my strapless bra had been salvageable. I was grateful for small favors at the moment. The sweatshirt and sweatpants were a little big, but they'd do just fine. I wasn't complaining. Anything that wasn't sticking to me and covered in blood was a step up. They stuck me in a cold, empty room at a metal table in a metal chair with nothing but a cup of coffee. I was starting to feel like a criminal rather than someone who had just witnessed a very horrific and traumatizing murder.

I sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of my nose. My migraine had only gotten worse in the hours since I had arrived. I suspected the harsh fluorescent lighting had something to do with it. I wasn't even sure what time it was anymore. I got the feeling that I was in some kind of underground government facility, hidden away from all daylight [though I was really almost positive that wasn't the case… almost]. Perhaps it was the stress of the situation grating on my nerves, but I was starting to feel like I was about to have a nervous breakdown. I stood up, coffee cup in hand, to pace the length of the room. I avoided looking at any of the mirrors, assuming they were two-way glass. I felt like they were watching me, scrutinizing me like a slide under a microscope. I didn't know why. I just wanted to get the fuck out of there as soon as possible. I growled quietly and knocked on one of the mirrors.

"Can we get a move on?" I said loudly. "I'd really like to go home if you don't mind."

I had returned to pacing the room a few minutes later by the time Jack Crawford opened the door to join me. He smiled tensely and gestured for me to sit. I closed my eyes for a moment and sighed impatiently before doing as he requested. I didn't much feel like sitting. I pictured myself for a moment running through the woods along a familiar path, chest heaving, before the idea that I was being chased rather than enjoying myself startled me out of it. He sat down across the table from me, watching me wrap my arms around myself, rocking back and forth. I could feel him watching me, that is, but I didn't much care. My own comfort mattered more to me than whether or not this man thought I was insane. I stared blankly down at the table with tired eyes; eyes that struggled not to relive my afternoon over and over and over again.

"Are you all right Miss Lovett?" he asked quietly.

I looked up at him curiously, snapping out of my reverie. I was crying. When had I started? I sniffled and quickly wiped my face, pressing my palms against my eyes for a couple of seconds to collect myself. I nodded vigorously.

"I'm fine," I croaked. "Slightly scarred for life, I think, but I'll make it. Mostly my mind is just…" I dropped my hands onto the table and looked up at him. He finally looked empathetic, if only a little. I shook my head. "It's tired of fighting for today. It wants to sleep it off and I'm becoming more and more inclined to allow it."

He nodded, shuffling papers in a folder he had brought with him. "I just have a couple of questions for you and then you'll be free to go."

I nodded, rubbing my temples. "Fire away, Mr. Crawford."

"What is your affiliation with the Hobbs family?"

I leaned back in my chair, sighing heavily. "I spent one summer babysitting for them when I was… thirteen? Fourteen? I'm not sure. It was a long time ago. Until today, I hadn't seen them since then."

"Which begs the question… Why were you at the Hobbs residence today?"

I raised an eyebrow at him. "I was returning some dishes to the Missus for my grandma. I don't live in the area. She doesn't really have any family here. Mrs. Hobbs… she sort of… made her feel welcome."

I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. I saw her corpse in my lap. I immediately opened my eyes again, blinking the image away.

"Did Mr. Hobbs ever display any… strange behavior?"

I rubbed my forehead again and leaned on the table. I shook my head slowly. "No, not that I can think of. Like I said, I haven't seen the family in over ten years. That's a lot of time for something to change. Abigail was just a little girl then. Mr. Hobbs… He seemed like a good father. I never had reason to believe that he…" I paused, trying to wrap my head around this, around the words.  _That he would murder anyone_. I looked up at Mr. Crawford. "I'm not sure what happened to Mr. Hobbs, but I can tell you that the man I saw in that house today…. That's not the man I remember. That look on his face was… mad… animalistic… I've never seen anything like it. You never expect to see that look on the face of someone you know…"

He was quiet for several seconds. I heard him breathe in deeply before he spoke again. "I have to ask, Miss Lovett… Why were you covered in Mrs. Hobbs' blood?"

I flinched, hugging myself a little tighter. The gesture didn't really bring me any warmth. It was a bit of empty consolation, but I'd take a hug where I could get one right now. I shook my head and let out a strained, high-pitched laugh. "When the front door opened, I thought maybe my grandma had-had called ahead… or that maybe someone was just on the way out… And then there was Mrs. Hobbs, staggering toward me, blood everywhere. I've never… I mean that is the exact reason I did not become a nurse. I'm not good under pressure. I-I tried to stop the bleeding; I pressed my hands over the side of her neck but i-it was just shooting everywhere in time with her fucking heart beat and then…" I took a deep breath, struggling to regain my senses. I didn't remember standing up, but I slowly sank back into my seat. "She stopped moving… and I just held her for a moment." I looked up at Jack Crawford, wiping my face dry. "Is that what you want to hear? That I held her in my arms while she died and I didn't know how to help her?" He shifted uncomfortably, eyes looking anywhere but at me. I glanced around the room, wondering which mirrors had people on the other side. "When can I go home?"

He sighed, that grim smile taught on his face once more. He tapped his file against the table and stood, heading toward the door. "We've just got a few calls to make and you'll be free to go. Thank you for being so patient. I know this hasn't been easy."

I nodded and watched him leave the room. I shook my head and sighed heavily, slumping forward onto the table to rest my eyes for a while. I had anticipated that I would still be seeing the gruesome scenes of the day every time I closed my eyes, but somehow it still didn't really prepare me for it. After a couple of minutes I gave up and just stared at the wall instead. It was easier to ignore the images that way. Mr. Crawford returned shortly. I couldn't quite tell if he looked pleased or not, but I didn't much care at the moment. I just wanted to get the hell out of there.

"All right, Miss Lovett," he said slowly. "You're free to go. I'll have someone show you out. We've had your car brought to the facility. After speaking with your grandmother, I assumed you might want to cut your visit short. We're only a few hours from your home now."

He offered me one last smile, though there was a tenseness behind it that made me worry. I nodded, pushing away from the table to stand.

"Do you by chance know where they've taken Abigail?"

He raised his eyebrows and rubbed his forehead anxiously. Clearly he was a man under a lot of stress. I could understand. A job like this couldn't be easy. It must take its toll. He needed to work on his people skills, nonetheless.

"They've moved her to Johns Hopkins in Baltimore."

I sighed in frustration and combed my fingers through my hair. "That's… excellent; really great. Any particular reason the hospitals in Minnesota weren't good enough?" I narrowed my eyes. "You want her close to keep an eye on her?"

His jaw clenched and he stood up a little straighter. He wasn't going to answer any of my questions. "Your car is waiting."


	3. Chapter 3

He showed me out of the room without another word, where a young man took the initiative to lead me down the maze of hallways to the nearest exit. He showed me to my car and gave me my keys. I thanked him and listened intently to the directions he was giving me on how to get back to the highway. He left me to it then, heading toward a different building than the one we had just left. I dug through my trunk for different clothes. I'd need to stop somewhere for gas anyway. I sat for a long while doing little more than quivering and staring at the buildings around me. I felt so small and insignificant, and that settled into my bones like the cold of a North Dakota winter. I sighed and rubbed my sore eyes, willing myself to move. I pulled a slouch knit hat down over my ears and pulled off the lot. The highway was easy enough to get to. I made a quick stop to change and put gas in my car before heading on. I felt much better being in my own clothes – a soft v-neck tee, my favorite skinny jeans, and black high tops. I turned up my music, struggling with my thoughts as I drove. I didn't pay attention to what was playing. The bass and the rhythm pulsating through my body were comforting enough without focus on the words. I hardly remembered the drive the hospital [something I supposed was probably not actually very good at all]. I sat clutching the steering wheel for the duration of several songs. My eyelids were feeling heavy again. I was starting to feel like I wasn't all there. I rubbed my eyes. If I could erase this day from my memory I'd highly consider it.

I turned up the volume on my radio, took a deep breath and screamed at the top of my lungs until my voice gave out. I hid my face in my hands, trying to catch my breath. I leaned back against my seat, gasping for air. My chest was aching, tears involuntarily springing to my eyes. I swore loudly to myself, reaching my arms up over my head to place my palms on the ceiling. I couldn't even think of who to call with a situation like this. I suppose it was going to come sooner or later, so it was probably best that it came now before I was in a hospital full of people that would interrogate me and make it worse. My hands were starting to go numb and my head was spinning. I opened my eyes again and jumped. I hadn't heard the sound of tapping on my window over the sound of Linkin Park. I fumbled for the volume control, dragging my free hand down my face. I blinked hard, forcing my eyes to focus as I rolled my window down. Dr. Lecter was leaning on the frame of my car, a slight crease of concern on his usually expressionless face. How he had known I was here, let alone what kind of car I drove, was beyond me. These were thoughts that didn't really stick much at the moment. I just shook my head and leaned my back against the seat again, pushing my palms harder into my eyes, my fingers tingling in time with my pulse. I felt like I was going to pass out. He opened my door and leaned across me to turn my car off, taking the keys out of the ignition to place them in one of the cup holders. He carefully pushed my hands away and held my face in his hands. I saw his lips moving, but I couldn't hear what he was saying over the rushing in my ears. I squeezed my eyes shut for a few seconds and tried to pay attention.

"Keeran, can you hear me?" he repeated calmly.

I pressed my hands to my chest. My heart was beating so hard I thought it might burst. I gave one quick nod.

"You are having an anxiety attack," he continued. "I need you to focus. Can you do that for me?" I nodded once more. "Look at me." I reluctantly opened my eyes. His gaze was steady and collected, though still as intense as ever. I looked to his lips instead. I recalled his hands on my face and forced my attention there. They were warm, his grip firm. The feeling was somewhat soothing, grounding. "What you are feeling is completely normal. You witnessed a terrible crime today against a family you have known since adolescence. This sense of immediate danger, it will pass. Remind yourself: you are safe. What I need for you to do is try to take deep breaths – in through your nose and out through your mouth."

I complied with his request to the best of my ability. My head still felt like it was about to float right off my shoulders. My mind blanked for half a second, jolting back to life with a gasp. My whole body jerked involuntarily. I blinked, trying to gather my thoughts, reaching up to touch my face. I found instead that Dr. Lecter was still holding my face in his hands. He offered me a small smile.

"Feeling better?" he asked. Now was hardly the time for teasing, but I appreciated the humor. I nodded slowly. I opened my mouth to ask what had happened, but he was quicker. "You fainted," he continued. "Only for a few seconds, but that's all the jump starting your brain needed."

He released me from his grip and held a hand out to help me stand. I shoved my keys into my pocket and grabbed my olive green jacket out of the back seat before taking said hand. The ground swayed beneath my feet. I caught myself on my car, instinctively squeezing his fingers. He waited patiently for me to gain my footing and my senses. I took a deep breath and shut the door, carefully releasing his hand.

"Thank you," I said quietly while I wriggled my arms into the sleeves of my coat. I focused on my feet as I took small steps toward the door. He took my left arm, linking it with his right, and held it firmly. The motion steadied my shaky steps. I blushed and nodded a second round of thanks. "Are you a psychiatrist?"

He gave me another mildly curious look. "Why do you ask?"

I shrugged. "I just wondered… You introduced yourself as Dr. Lecter and you kind of talk like one, so… just curious is all."

He smiled faintly. "You are very perceptive."

I shrugged. "I guess so. I just pay attention…"

I was grateful he didn't point out the obvious - did I know what a psychiatrist sounded like because I had seen one? The answer being yes, I appreciated being spared the indignity of being asked why (though he didn't seem like the type). I stared at the white linoleum beneath my feet as he led me down the halls to the nearest elevator. It was something other than the warmth of his body to focus on, so I was grateful for a distraction. I didn't get a lot of close physical contact from people – particularly not attractive older gentlemen [or gentlemen at all, really]. Getting so much all at once whether in a romantic sense or not was more than enough to overwhelm my senses. My palms were starting to sweat, though that may partially be attributed to my nervousness. I watched him push the button for floor 6 and closed my eyes for a few seconds. I was starting to shake again.

"How is she?" I whispered.

There was a long pause. I opened my eyes and looked up at him. It hadn't occurred to me that Abigail might not have made it. Where else would he be taking me if she hadn't? Seeing that he had alarmed me, he quickly replied.

"She is alive," Dr. Lecter said carefully. I sensed a "but" coming. He glanced down at the floor, almost in shame, before meeting my gaze. "Abigail is in a coma... Indefinitely."

The elevator dinged loudly and the doors slid open. I breathed out heavily and gave a dry laugh. At least she was alive. It could have easily been a very different story. They'd had to intubate. There was gauze dressing wrapped around her neck, hiding the mended wound to the side of her throat. In the hospital lighting especially she looked sickly pale. I shouldn't have been surprised. She'd lost a lot of blood. She looked so fragile and weak, lying there all by herself. When I stepped forward, Dr. Lecter let me proceed alone. My eyebrows knit together as I stared down at her for a long while, listening to the calm rhythmic beeping of her heart monitor. I touched her hand, part of me half expecting her to stir. I sighed and pulled a chair over to make myself comfortable at her bedside. I wiped at the corners of my eyes and took a seat in the reclining chair. It wasn't very comfortable, but it was better than nothing. Once I had settled in, I took up her hand and finally allowed myself to relax. I stared up at the ceiling drowsily, listening to the sound of Dr. Lecter pulling up another chair on the opposite side of the bed. I propped my feet up the footrest and closed my eyes. Now that I knew she was safe [at least relatively so] I felt the weight of the day's events starting to cave in on me. Now seemed like as good a time as any to catch some sleep. I'd stay here with her as long as they'd let me.

* * *

I woke up gasping for air. I sat up straight, looking around in a daze. I was having a nightmare, but now that I was awake it was fading fast. The last thing I remembered clearly was standing in the middle of a field screaming as it rained blood. My right hand fluttered across my body, patting my clothes to make sure I was dry. I sighed and dragged my hand down my face, collapsing against the back of my chair. It was darker outside than when I had arrived. I wondered how long I'd been out.

"You sleep with your eyes open. Did you know?"

I jumped at the sound of Dr. Lecter's voice. I hadn't noticed him still seated in his chair. He was watching me with the same calm, smooth expression. It annoyed me that I could never tell what he was thinking. I rubbed my eyes and stretched, letting out a quiet squeak.

"Yeah, I've been told I do on occasion," I muttered. "Sorry… I know it's kinda creepy. It comes and goes."

I got up and turned away to stretch some more so he wouldn't see me blushing, though he seemed utterly unfazed by my peculiar sleeping habits. I held my face in my hands and paced a few steps back and forth for a minute. I was still exhausted. It didn't feel like I had regained any sort of energy from my time asleep. I turned back to face Dr. Lecter, covering my mouth to my yawn. He was still watching me – quite openly, as a matter of fact. It was a little disengaging. Most people tried to hide it when they were inspecting someone. I wondered if he had grown up somewhere else [somewhere people didn't find this unusual?] or if perhaps it was just one of his quirks. It made me feel self-conscious. I looked down at my hands, suddenly interested in my fingernails.

"Do you know what time it is?" I asked calmly.

"It is almost eleven o'clock," he replied after a brief pause, a hint of amusement in his voice.

I looked up at him sharply. He had looked away from his watch and was gazing back at me once more.

"Eleven o'clock? Oh my God, my grandma is gonna have a heart attack I meant to call her. Jesus…." I spun in a circle for a second trying to find my phone. I shook my head, laughing to myself. "You didn't bring anything in. Get it together… I need a phone book. I need to find a hotel. Christ I hope they're still checking people in if they don't have reservations. It would be silly drive all the way home just to come back tomorrow…" He had stood, presumably to bid me goodnight. I smiled tensely, shuffling with an awkward gait to the foot of the bed. "Sorry, didn't mean to… I was just trying to work things out aloud. Thank you for all of your help, Dr. Lecter. Also for... staying here with Abigail. I appreciate it and I think she would too."

He gave me the most genuine smile I had seen on his face yet. I wasn't sure yet what I found so charming about him. Right now I was doing my best not to stare too long at either his lips or into his eyes. I knew without a doubt that just one second and he would notice. It was a struggle.

"Please, call me Hannibal," he said, walking to meet me at the corner. "Are you going to be all right driving? Forgive me, but you seem a bit…" I glanced back up at him, arching an eyebrow. "… worn thin. I'd be more than happy to drive you."

I chewed my lip thoughtfully, looking down at my hands as I wrung them. I nodded hesitantly. My eyes were still burning, throbbing like my head was with my beating heart. I sighed and dragged my hands down my face one last time, wiping away all the worry [or at least trying to] before looking back up at him. I nodded again, this time more firmly.

"Okay," I muttered. "I just need a few minutes then to call around."

He nodded. "I don't mind. I only want to make sure you get home safely."

I smiled tensely, suspecting there may have been motives other than that behind it. I didn't linger on the thought. "Thank you…"

I asked one of the nurses for a phonebook and sat around making a few phone calls before deciding on a place. The Super 8 was decently priced and still checking people in, so it sounded like we were headed there. I handed him my key and crossed my arms over my chest. He led the way back to the elevators. I fought against the urge to let myself fall back asleep standing there under the fluorescent lights. I slipped into the passenger seat, something I hadn't done for a while. My music started playing when he started the engine. I turned it down, looking to him for permission.

"Do you mind the radio? I can keep it turned down."

He shook his head. "Not at all. It is your car, after all."

I smiled faintly and tilted the seat back a little, trying to force myself to relax. I listened to Circus Contraption quietly pumping out soft, whimsical tunes. I shook myself awake, realizing I hadn't told him where to go.

"Sorry," I muttered, looking down at my phone. "Ummm… Do you know where Stemmers Run Road is or should I get directions?"

"I can get you there," he replied simply.

I nodded, shifting my gaze out my window. We rode in silence for several minutes while I watched the street pass by, biting the end of my thumb in thought. He had to know more about what was going on than I did. The real question was would he tell me? Jack Crawford hadn't been very forthcoming. Dr. Lecter hadn't done much to prove he could offer much insight. Still, I had a thousand and one questions banging around inside my skull and my gut told me he would be at least willing to hear me out. As we sat at a stoplight, I glanced over at him. As soon as he noticed, he looked over to meet my gaze. I opened my mouth to say something, then growled and shut it again. I wasn't sure where to begin. I rubbed my temples, feeling frustrated.

"Light's green," I said quietly.

He pulled away, attention back on the road. I turned in my seat to face him fully, leaning my back against the door. He looked like he was still waiting for me to say whatever it was I had to say.

"I have a question," I started off cautiously.

"I may have an answer," he replied coyly. "We won't know until you ask."

I pursed my lips at the amused grin that flickered across his face. He didn't show emotion often, but when he did I had thusly noted it was often at someone else's expense. He was charismatic and he was a flatterer, so I doubted many people took much notice. The charming accent probably helped work a bit of magic as well. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes and bit the end of my tongue for a few seconds before I spoke.

"I don't know if you're allowed to tell me. No one at the FBI really said anything about it and quite frankly I didn't really want to ask under the circumstances of my visit but… why were they coming for Mr. Hobbs?"

I heard him take a deep breath and exhale slowly. His grip on the steering wheel tightened momentarily before he relaxed, the crease between his eyebrows smoothing out. "How closely do you follow the news?"

I shrugged. "I mean I don't religiously watch it with my morning coffee, but I catch bits and pieces, find snippets on my sister's blog. Why?"

"Have you been following the Shrike case at all?"

I nodded slowly, my eyes going wide. I sat up straight, slapping my hand on the dashboard. "You're kidding me? Mr. Hobbs was…? No… What…?"

"That's what the FBI believe. That's what the evidence suggests."

My hands flew up to cover my mouth. Granted I didn't know a whole lot about the case, but I knew enough to know that it was pretty horrific [much more horrific than I cared to imagine a man whose house I had spent so much time in was capable of]. I suddenly wondered how long he had been at work. I was beginning to question every piece of meat he had ever cooked for me at every barbeque that summer. I slumped in my seat, falling into stunned silence.  _Mr. Hobbs was a serial killer_. I repeated it to myself several times over, trying to absorb the idea. I nodded, staring down at my hands again as I played with my fingernails. I guess that just went to show that you never knew whom you could trust.


	4. Chapter 4

Silence settled over us once more. I twisted the sleeve of my jacket. I'd give it another day before I went home. I wagered that was about how long I could go without talking to someone about this. I wanted to be surrounded by my friends, buried in blankets, drowning myself in a gallon of Rocky Road. I was drained beyond measure. It left me feeling numb, empty. The stillness of the air was suffocating. I pulled my hat off and rolled my window down, letting the cool night air wash over my face. I closed my eyes, breathing in and out slowly. I was feeling less than comfortable in the car with Dr. Lecter. Part of me wanted to spill out every question I had floating around. The majority was starting to feel the tension grating on my nerves. Even though he wasn't looking at me, I got the feeling that I was being analyzed.

Thankfully we pulled up to the hotel a few short minutes later. He offered to help me with my bags, which I reluctantly accepted. A bored-looking young man, who barely managed a smile, greeted me at the front desk. I waited patiently for him to find me a room. I thanked him, took the room keys he had given me and led the way down the hall he had directed us toward. One of the lights in the corridor flickered noisily, casting shadows across the walls and floor. A sense of fear fluttered its way up my stomach to my heart, an icy hot hand clawing at my insides. It was almost like being followed by a malevolent force rather than a person. I tripped, catching myself on the wall. I swiped the back of my hand across my forehead to wipe away the cold sweat collecting there. The desk clerk had given me two keys. He must've thought we were rooming together. I fumbled over them to unlock the door, ever aware of Dr. Lecter's presence behind me. I held the door for him to follow me in, flipping on lights as I went. I shuffled over to a small table in the corner and set my bag down on one of the chairs. I heard the door close followed by the slow, purposeful footsteps of him following me into the room. I finally turned to face him, running my fingers through my hair.

"Thank you," I said quietly, crossing to him to take the handle of my rolling suitcase. "I can call you a cab to take you back to the hospital. Um… You're welcome to wait in here until it shows up. I'm just gonna be settling in."

He nodded once. "Yes, thank you."

I moved my bag to the floor and crossed to the nightstand to retrieve the phonebook. I spent a few minutes calling around before I found a company that was still open. Dr. Lecter had taken a seat at the table. I dug through my suitcase for my plaid flannel nightgown and toothbrush.

"I'm just gonna put on my pajamas if you don't mind," I said, gesturing toward the bathroom. "Make yourself comfortable. Your cab should be here soon."

He nodded. I grabbed my ipod and speaker and headed into the bathroom to change. The softness of the fabric and familiarity was comforting, particularly my own underwear. I splashed cool water over my face, listening to the sound of nature coming through my speaker. I patted my face dry on a towel and sighed heavily. I looked at my reflection for the first time since that morning. My eyes were bloodshot, a little puffy. My hair was still crinkly from being braided and was looking haphazard at the moment. In this lighting especially my skin was paler than I was used to seeing, washed out. I appeared as worn as I felt. I quickly brushed my teeth and folded my dirty clothes before reentering the room. For half a second I reconsidered my choice in pajamas. It was too late now. It would be rude to go back in and change again. I shut my music off and set my clothes in the corner. Dr. Lecter looked perfectly content sitting at the table flipping through an old magazine. He glanced up from it while I was getting comfortable on one of the beds. I couldn't tell if I was actually cold or if it was just the hollow feeling that hadn't left the pit of my stomach yet. It still felt like there was a hunk of ice settling in the core of my body and I hadn't adjusted to it yet. The chill left a dull ache in its wake. Trying to smother it out was thus far unsuccessful. I stared thoughtfully at the pattern in the comforter for a moment before clearing my throat and sitting up straight.

"Dr. Lecter?" I ventured.

He clicked his tongue at me in scolding and smiled. "Hannibal," he corrected.

I blushed and nodded. "Hannibal," I amended. It felt strange; like calling a teacher by their first name.

He leaned back in his chair, giving me his full direct attention. I managed not to shrink away like I wanted to. "What's on your mind?"

I picked at my nails again for several long seconds, staring at the well-tailored chest of his suit before I raised my gaze to meet his. "Do you think Mr. Hobbs was guilty?"

He broke eye contact, examining the stained surface of the table instead. "All evidence supports that-"

I shook my head and he stopped, raising his eyebrows curiously. "I'm not asking what the evidence is telling us. I'm asking what  _you personally believe._  Do  _you_  think that Mr. Hobbs was guilty?"

He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. He took a moment of gazing at the floor to think it over before he nodded and looked back to me. "I do."

I don't know what else I had been expecting, but for some reason hearing him say those two small words came as a shock to me. I exhaled sharply, any breath I had fleeing my body in a rush of air. I clutched helplessly at my heart to stifle the ache. I nodded fervently, signaling that I had heard his response. He was a very intelligent man – that much I could tell. If he thought Garrett Jacob Hobbs - the man whose family I had spent countless summer nights sharing dinner with, watching movies with, setting off fireworks with on Independence Day – was without a doubt in his mind a serial killer… I believed him.

"Keeran?"

Hannibal's smooth voice pulled me from my thoughts. I glanced up at him, holding my head in my hands. I was starting to quiver again. He must have noticed. He had sat forward in his chair. He was frowning still, a look of mixed confusion and that lingering curiosity on his face. I noticed for the first time that the look of concern didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Are you feeling all right?" he continued.

I forced what must have been my hundredth smile for the day. It was getting harder to keep it up. "Yeah, I'm okay," I said weakly. "I'm just really tired is all."

He watched me a moment longer before reaching into the pocket of his suit. He pulled out a small card and crossed the room to sit across from me on the second bed. He leaned over and handed it to me. "If you feel like you need someone to talk to Keeran, you can call me. My office is here in Baltimore. I understand you don't live far. If you are ever in need of a voice of reason, feel free."

I turned the crisp business card over in my fingers a few times. The design was fairly simple and to the point, no unnecessary distractions from the clean-cut font. I laughed dryly and rubbed my forehead.

"I, uh… I appreciate the gesture, but…" I eyed his suit again. It looked very expensive. "I have a feeling you're a bit above my pay grade. I've got pretty shoddy insurance so I'm pretty much 100% positive that you are not on the list of providers."

He gave me a small, half-smile. "A consultation is free of charge. Although, technically, if I'm not diagnosing you we are only having a friendly conversation – and that I can do for free to my heart's content."

I looked down at the card a moment longer. I might take him up on that offer sometime, depending on how the next week went. I seriously doubted the friendly conversation bit, no matter how pleasing the accent or tone. It was more like a mongoose charming a cobra. I gave him a more earnest smile. "Thank you. I appreciate it."

"You are welcome."

I must have held his gaze too long. He tilted his head to the side a little and his smile widened just a fraction. I blushed and looked back down at the hands in my lap. I still hadn't managed to quite put my finger on what it was about him that I found so fascinating. Goodness yes he was attractive, but there was something lurking behind his seemingly innocent features; I could feel it. Moreover, every instinct I had screamed at me that it was something dark and malicious. In the back of my mind, a thought planted – it felt a bit like sitting in a room with a werewolf [I imagined, at least]. Leave it to me to draw that sort of parallel. Somewhere in there was a beast waiting to lash out at the right person; or the wrong person, rather – whoever decided to piss him off. Whatever it was, the mask of normalcy was quickly becoming more and more transparent. What I would find behind it I wasn't sure yet.

Still, I didn't immediately decide that he was terribly frightening – a little intimidating, yes, maybe a little disarming in the way I would catch him studying me, but he didn't send me screaming. He had quite the opposite effect, as a matter of fact. He was so poised and calm that it made it easier for me to take a breath and do the same. My eyes traveled to his shoes. They were black, perfectly shined, and looked brand new. I swallowed hard. How did he still manage to look so perfect after such an ordeal? I must look like hell in comparison. I subconsciously reached up to smooth my hair down, my hand trailing down my neck to touch my pearls for assurance. That was when I realized they were gone. I looked down in horror, realizing I must have left them with the FBI. I gasped and swore under my breath, hiding my face in my hands before my eyes had the chance to tear up again.

I felt a hand cautiously rest upon my shoulder. "What is it?"

 _God, why did he have to have that stupid lovely accent?_  He was impossible to ignore. I shook my head, laughing at my own foolishness, and looked up at him with an exasperated sigh.

"I left my pearls with the FBI," I grumbled. "I think they took them with the rest of my things to gather samples and… they never gave them back. ARGH! I can't believe I forgot! I got those from my grandma! My brain is just so scrambled today…"

I heard him chuckle and threw a dangerous glare in his direction, daring him to laugh at me. He raised his eyebrows, seemingly the smallest bit taken aback, before settling into a smile instead.

"I may be able to get them back for you," he replied. "You will have to wait until they have everything they need from them, at the very least."

I nodded grudgingly. That made sense, I suppose. Just then my phone rang. I answered and spoke briefly with a gentleman from the cab company, who was waiting just outside. I was a bit disheartened that he had arrived so quickly, but also relieved. I stood awkwardly, turning my phone over in my hands a couple of times before tucking it back into my pocket. He was standing on the opposite side of the bed, backlit by the dim lighting of the lamp in the far corner. He looked like a fallen angel [more like a demon in disguise was my guess, really]. I shifted uncomfortably at the disturbing notion that I was still quite strongly attracted to him - more specifically that the idea was more than a little exciting - and plastered on another wavering smile.

"I guess this is goodnight then," I said nervously, fidgeting with my hands as I walked him to the door. My face lit up and I scurried over to my bag before he could say a word, retrieving a scrap of paper. I quickly scribbled on it before returning to his side. I held it out to him, biting my tongue for several long seconds as he looked down at it in confusion. "It's my phone number," I explained. "If by any chance she…" I stopped myself, pausing to shake my head and laugh quietly. When I looked back up at him though, he was gazing back at me with fixed understanding.

"If she wakes up, I will call you," he assured me with one last faint smile.

I pressed my mouth into a tight line and nodded. "Goodnight Hannibal. Thank you, again, for all of your help."

He nodded, bidding me farewell. "Goodnight Keeran. Take care of yourself."

I waited to see him disappear down the hall before I shut the door and locked it. Feeling utterly exhausted, I staggered to my bed as I stretched my arms up over my head. I collapsed onto the nearest bed. The stiffness of the mattress didn't bother me. I was overwhelmingly happy to be at rest. I turned on my ipod and the accompanying speaker on the nightstand. I flicked off the lamp, the soothing sounds of my Secluded Lake soundtrack softly filling my room. I was asleep within minutes, though I can't say it was a very restful sleep after all.


	5. Chapter 5

I slept well past noon the next day. The heavy curtains certainly helped with the task. I blinked and rubbed my eyes, floundering about on my bed until I managed to reach the alarm clock on the nightstand. It was almost 3pm. I groaned and flopped back down on my pillows. I felt like I hadn't slept at all. Throughout the night I'd had the horrific nightmares, most of which involved me screaming and bathed in blood as they had the previous day at the hospital. I got one look at myself in the mirror through heavily lidded eyes and cringed. I was even paler than yesterday, dark circles giving away my poor sleep. I rubbed my face vigorously and grumbled to myself, stalking back to my room. I grabbed my speaker and stripped down before climbing into a hot shower. It felt nice to be in a normal shower rather than the impersonal, sterile shower of the FBI.

Afterward I sat at the foot of my bed watching water drip from the end of my hair onto the thinly carpeted floor for the duration of several songs. My hair was half dry by the time I snapped out of it. I sighed and rubbed my tired eyes once more before wrapping the towel around my head. I winced at the sting and pulled my hands away. I must've fallen asleep with my contacts in. I'd been pushing the limit with taking them out for a while now and I doubted the tears had helped. I spent several frustrating minutes pulling them out of my eyes to toss them in the garbage. I sighed and settled on my back up glasses – a simple square plastic frame in dark red. I wriggled into a pair of clean underpants and struggled a few seconds with fastening my bra. I stood in front of my bed with my arms wrapped around myself as I stared blankly at my clothes haphazardly pulled out of my suitcase. I grabbed a pair of dark wash, whiskered flare jeans and stepped into them on while I continued to scan for an appropriate shirt. Rubbing my arms anxiously, I settled on a long, white racer-back tank top and my favorite crimson dolman sweater. It hung a bit too loosely on my frame since I'd lost weight, but it would be fine if I wore a belt with it. I dug a black woven belt out of one of the inner pockets of my bag and fastened it loosely around my waist to make my sweater hang a little more flattering. I called the front desk to apologize and ask if I could check out late. I growled in frustration. If I was going to be charged again anyway I may as well stay another night.

I ran around my room putting on deodorant, perfume, and eyeliner as I grabbed my purse. I moved a few things from my messenger bag, which had fallen in a heap on the floor during the night, to said purse and made sure I had my phone and charger. I pushed a pair of brown feather earrings into my lobes and wrestled the long chain of my bird skull necklace down over my head. I needed a few of my important things close to me for reassurance today. I hopped out of my room, shoving my feet into my black high tops. I didn't bother with the tie-dye laces. I snatched my keys off the coffee table as I dashed out the door. It was brighter outside than I had anticipated. I hissed audibly as I fumbled in my bag for my sunglasses. I called my grandma as I backed out, apologizing profusely for my tardiness in contacting her. She understood of course. She was making a run to the store at the moment though and would have to call me back. I heaved a heavy sigh and switched my stereo to play the CD that was loaded.

My nerves hadn't had a chance to recover yet. I still felt skittish and jittery. I hoped that would pass soon. I had the next couple of days off, but I took the initiative and called my employer to explain the situation to them as well. Thankfully they let me put in the paid time off for the rest of the week. I was glad to have one less thing to worry about for a while. It felt like a small weight had been lifted off my shoulders, and for that I was grateful. The crushing weight of my remaining worries lingered, though I attempted to force them to the back of my mind for the time being. I made the firm decision in my mind to find some flowers for Abigail's room. I had to make a few calls, but I was finally able to locate a shop that had the specific flowers that I was looking for. I stopped in at one of the coffee shops in the hospital lobby to grab something to drink and a bite to eat. I'd barely gotten two steps before my phone rang. It was my grandma. I sat down at one of the tables.

"Hey," I said weakly.

"How are you this morning?" she asked cheerfully.

"I'm just really stressed right now," I whispered pleadingly, my voice cracking.

The sound of my voice was foreign to me. Surely I was listening to someone else speak my mind, someone with a voice that made them sound so broken. I sniffled, listening to the soft pat of my tears dripping onto the table. My hands flew up to cover my face. I couldn't explain the shame I felt at feeling so weak and helpless in the face of so much chaos. My face twisted at my relentless inner turmoil. I had a lot on my plate to deal with prior to the incident. One more thing on my mind and the cup was overflowing. I wished she were here to hug me and offer me some form of physical comfort. She whispered soothing things into the phone for what felt like hours until my hysteria subsided into hiccups.

We spent the next few minutes discussing other things. The topic of Abigail Hobbs was cleverly avoided. As I picked at the salad I'd bought I voiced my concerns about my roommate's boyfriend. She listened intently while I ranted on, allowing me to vent my frustrations. My stomach felt queasy. I picked out the slices of cucumber and fixated on eating them, the flavor [or maybe the scent] oddly relaxing. As though she could read my mind, she spoke up.

"Have you eaten anything today?" she asked poignantly.

I smiled. "I'm eating a salad right now. I slept pretty late so I didn't get a chance to earlier." I was silent for a moment, wiping my cheeks dry. "Thank you, grandma," I added quietly. "I love you."

"I love you too, sweetie," she replied with a light chuckle. "I'll let you go. I imagine you'll be on your way to the hospital?"

I nodded solemnly. "I'm there now. I haven't gone up yet."

She let out a breathy sigh. "Let me know how she's doing. Take care of yourself."

"I will. I'll call you later. Bye."

Once I hung up, I tucked my unfinished salad into my purse and headed down the hallway. I shifted my weight from one foot to the other as the elevator slowly crept to my intended floor. I glanced at my reflection in the doors and ran my hand over my hair, pulling the length of my half-assed braid over my shoulder to play with. When the doors opened I quickly slipped past them into the hallway. I looked at the pale walls and floors. I didn't like hospitals. They made me feel vulnerable. Right now I felt vulnerable enough on my own. When I walked into Abigail's room I didn't expect to see Hannibal seated beside her bed again. He must have gone home at some point because he was wearing a different suit than he was yesterday. His jacket was folded and neatly laid over the back of his chair. He looked up at me, apparently surprised to see me back so soon. The sleeves of his colorful button-up shirt were rolled back from his forearms. I looked away abruptly, smiling to myself despite the heat I felt rising in my cheeks.

"How is she?" I asked to draw my attention elsewhere, setting the vase of dark red lilies on the table beside her bed. I fluffed them up and adjusted their positions while I waited for him to reply.

"She's stable," he answered. "No dramatic changes. She's shown no signs of waking."

I nodded, leaning forward to inhale the floral scent for several calming seconds. I heaved a sigh, opening my eyes, and pulled up a chair on the other side of her bed. I glanced up at him to judge his reaction to my doing so. He didn't seem to mind, but I figured I should ask anyway.

"Do you mind if I join you?" I questioned, pointing to the chair at my side.

He looked away from the vase of lilies I had brought to my face, blinking away his train of thought. "Not at all."

I nodded and curled my legs comfortably underneath myself before sitting. I pulled the Hobbit out of my purse and opened it to my marked place, settling into the peaceful silence between us.

* * *

_Hannibal_

_He watched out of the corners of his eyes as she cuddled up in the chair across the bed from him, eyes scanning the pages of her book until she found her spot. She seemed strangely complacent sitting amongst the equipment and noise of the heart monitor and voices of the nurses noisily chattering at the desk outside the room. It didn't grate against her nerves as it did so many others, apparently. He looked over at the pale blue vase of speckled, crimson lilies she had brought in. They were a peculiar choice, considering the circumstances, but she must have good reason._

_She giggled quietly at something amusing in her book, gaining his attention again. She was leaning on her right hand, traces of a smile still evident on her lips. The index finger of her left hand absently twisted the brass chain around her neck, her thumb and middle finger stroking the small bird skull pendant in a rhythmic fashion. Her shirt was too big for her. It hung off her freckled shoulder, the harsh fluorescent lighting catching the angles of her facial features and casting shadows in sharp relief. She was wearing a small, square pair of crimson glasses today. Judging by the redness of her eyes and the way she rubbed at them every so often, she had slept in contacts. He noted their puffiness and the residual coloring still blotching her skin. She'd been crying again – quite recently._

_He turned the page of his newspaper, though he obviously wasn't reading it. She didn't seem to notice him watching her. His eyes cautiously swept over her once more. Her hair was in much the same fashion as the day before, if perhaps a little less neat. A few shorter strands were hanging loose about her face. She pushed them back behind her ear occasionally, but they never stayed put. Her tongue ran across the hoop through her lip [she had changed the ring out since he had seen her last]. Her fingertips fumbled over it, tracing her lips to rest at her chin. He recalled the sensation of her skin against his – the smoothness, the softness. She had a rich, musky floral scent; a hint of fallen autumn leaves. Even now from across the bed it teased his senses._

_She adjusted her seating and his eyes swept back to the paper in his hands lest she catch him staring. She pulled her braid over her shoulder, twisting the end between her fingers. She had stopped reading her book, though it lay open in her lap still. Her eyes were fixed on the flowers she had brought with her, a distant emptiness in her gaze. She was lost in her thoughts. The longer she stared, a small crease formed between her eyebrows. Hannibal turned the page and folded the paper, straightening in his seat. The movement seemed to rouse her from her frozen state. With a jolt, she inhaled sharply and blinked a few times, the anxiety melting from her features. She looked down at the book in her lap, looking almost surprised to see it there._

_She cleared her throat and looked around in embarrassment. Obviously she was checking to see if he had noticed. He was sure to appear perfectly absorbed in his newspaper, eyes lazily roaming the page of a story he didn't care to read. Seemingly satisfied with the gesture, she returned to reading her book and twirling her braid. It was something he made a note of. Perhaps she was prone to such hypnotic states? It was clear to him that suffered from some sort of anxiety disorder, though to what extent had yet to be seen. If she didn't call within a week or two, he would find one excuse or another to make contact. She would make quite an interesting project; that much he was certain of._

* * *

I had made sure to set an alarm for the next morning. The sound of it blaring through my music was slow to wake me, but eventually had me rolling over to swat at it in the darkness. I groaned and flopped back on the pillows with a sigh, dragging my hands down my face. It was a chore to force myself out of bed and into the shower, dressing myself in a pair of denim shorts, a burgundy pullover sweatshirt, and some black combat boots. I shoved everything back into my bags and packed up my car before checking out. I secured a scarf around my neck to block the chill in the air, shivering while I waited for my car to warm up. I sat on my cold hands and leaned against my steering wheel, trying to calm my breathing. The thought alone of driving back to my house was enough to make my eyes brim with tears.

I cleared my throat and wiped my eyes, throwing my car in drive. I scowled out the windshield, stopping to get a coffee on my way to the hospital. I wanted to see Abigail one last time before leaving town. I was relieved to see that her hospital room was empty. I wasn't sure that I could handle another encounter with Dr. Lecter before my long drive home. She looked peaceful. The color was returning to her face. I touched her hand, smiling tensely.

"I'm so sorry," I whispered. "I had no idea…" I laughed hoarsely and shook my head. "Not that I would've been able to help you if I had known, I suppose."

The alarm on my phone went off, signaling that it was time for me to get on the road. I sighed and pursed my lips, closing my eyes for a few seconds to gather my thoughts. I retrieved my worn down copy of The Hobbit from my bag and set it on the table beside the vase of flowers I had brought her. I nodded firmly and gave her hand a squeeze.

"I'll see you when you wake up."


	6. Chapter 6

The drive home was much more grueling than I could have imagined. I blasted music, singing at the top of my lungs to distract myself. Half of my time was spent in panicked tears, the remaining half longing for the comfort and safety of my bedroom. By the time I pulled into my driveway my head was pounding, my eyes swollen and puffy. The tears had dried up, it seemed, though a dull ache in my chest remained. Kayri's car was there and I felt an overwhelming wave of gratitude to see that Jay's car was not. I sat at length, gathering my energy and will to move. I finally shut off my car and started gathering my suitcases. After several minutes of fumbling with the keys at the front door and swearing under my breath, I was standing in my living room. The house was quiet, relatively clean compared to states I had seen it in before. I shuffled through the kitchen and down the hall to my room. I dropped my bags on the floor, not even willing to consider the idea of unpacking.

Doctor was curled up on my bed sleeping soundly – at least he was. He stretched now, trilling as he climbed to the end of my mattress to greet me. I smiled and scratched him behind the ears. I kicked off my shoes and shut the door behind me, crawling onto my bed and under the covers. I turned on some music, as well as my bedside lamp. Doctor walked all over me, purring his affections in my ear and rubbing against my hands. I stared at the wall, grateful, too, for the heavy curtains over my windows blocking out the obnoxiously bright light of day. Having lost all sense of time, I wasn't certain how long I had been like that when I heard a knock on my door.

"Come in," I called out.

Kayri opened the door, eyes searching until she found me buried beneath my blankets. She flopped down on my bed with a sigh.

"You're back early," she said cautiously. "What's going on? Is everything okay?"

I clutched my pillow, picking at the seams.

"I saw a woman die," I said quietly.

There was a pregnant pause. "Are you fucking kidding?"

"It was the mother of a girl I used to babysit when I was young. She died right in my arms and there was nothing I could do to help her."

"Holy shit. What happened?"

I hugged my pillow tighter, eyes wide. I could see Mrs. Hobbs staggering toward me, blood gushing from the gaping wound on her throat. I could see the fear in Abigail's eyes as she gazed up at me, feeling the icy grip of death upon her.

"Her husband – he cut her throat. They managed to save Abigail, but she's in a coma. I don't know that she'll wake up. There was so much blood. It was everywhere. I'll never get the scent of it off my skin."

"Jesus fucking Christ, Keeran. Oh my God. Are you okay? I mean… Shit…"

I felt the weight of her hand on my leg in what I imagine was meant to be a comforting gesture. I nodded, focusing on the color of my wall to drown out the screaming in my head. I repeated the same answer I had given Dr. Lecter.

"I'll be fine. I'm just really tired."

I could sense her eyes burning into me, filled with sympathy. "Let me know if you need anything. I'll be leaving for work soon, but you can call or text me."

I nodded again. "I will. Thank you."

She patted my leg and left me by myself, closing the door behind her. I turned off my music and turned on my TV instead. The Hobbit was still in the Bluray player from the last time I had watched it. The familiarity of it brought me a sense of comfort it seemed nothing else could. I sighed and hugged my pillow, listening to the narration. Doctor curled himself around my head, his pleased purring continuing as I rubbed his stomach.

* * *

_I walked trough a lush forest, following a pebbled path. Something about it seemed familiar, though it wasn't the trail I was used to jogging. Everything was relatively silent – no birdsong, no insects. There was only a breeze whispering through the treetops and the crunching of my footsteps. An increasing sense of dread encased me the deeper into the forest I ventured. My body tensed, trying to find something to focus on other than my stressed breathing. My eyes darted about, searching the dimly lit trees. The hushed wind sounded like voices whispering back and forth, calling out to me. I looked over my shoulder. The hairs on the back of my neck bristled. The direction from which I had come was slowly being swallowed by darkness – a darkness that twisted the trees into dry, lifeless branches, gnarled and stretching claws toward the gloomy sky._

_I backed away, turning to run down the path. I stumbled, barely catching myself. My heart throbbed painfully in my throat. I was definitely hearing voices. Shadows darted through the trees, inconspicuous shapes my eyes couldn't hope to follow. I came across a rundown wooden bridge. Gasping for air, I spun around, grappling for the railing. The darkness closing in around me stopped, lingering at its edges. I flinched back, stepping to the center of the bridge. The rotting wood creaked beneath me as I moved. I peered over the ledge at the cold water running beneath, scanning for the shadow and the voices in the trees. I turned to continue on and gasped, clutching my heart. Abigail stood blocking my path._

_I laughed with relief, stepping toward her. She smiled. I caught sight of the shadows lingering at her shoulders. They had no discernable shape, but I got the distinct impression they were men – which confused me. I reached out to her to ask her to step away. Something in her eyes, the way she looked at me, made me hesitate. It was like… she thought I didn't understand. Understand what, precisely, I wasn't certain. Her throat split open, blood pouring down her sweater, down her pale hands clasped neatly in front of her. Her smile never faltered. The shadow at her left side had disappeared. The one at her right stepped around her now, crossing to stand between us. It loomed over me, the whispers of the forest growing louder, bearing down on me. I couldn't focus on the words. Everything blended together. It didn't matter. My eyes were glued to the figure before me, my breath caught somewhere between my lungs and a scream._

_I looked down at the growing sensation of dampness. Blood was flooding the forest, thrashing over the bridge. It splashed across Abigail in waves, lapped at the hem of the skirt at her knees. The shadow wrapped its arms around me from behind, pinning my arms to my chest. I thrashed, eyes wide with fear. A hand very tenderly rested on my forehead, restraining my movements further. With blood up to my chest, I was gasping for air._

" _You are safe," a smooth, recognizable voice said in my ear. "This sense of danger will pass."_

_Finally finding my voice, I screamed and screamed until the thick, red liquid swallowed me into the pitch._

* * *

I woke up to someone shouting my name and shaking me violently. I was breathing heavily, still in the midst of kicking. Kayri was holding me down, a worried expression on her face. I whimpered, hiding my face in my hands. I felt like I was going to be sick. I looked around my room, struggling to gather my senses. Doctor was perched atop my bookcase, his lamp-like eyes gazing at me in alarm.

"What the hell?" Kayri asked. "Are you okay?"

I nodded and croaked, "I'm fine. I was… It was just a nightmare."

"More like night terrors. You were flailing around and I could hear you screaming when I pulled up."

I breathed out slowly, dragging a hand across my forehead. My face was covered with a thin veil of sweat. I grimaced and sighed, reaching to my nightstand for a pen and my dream journal. I started writing it all down before the details slipped away from me. Kayri stood watching warily.

"Are you sure you're all right?" she asked, moving to sit down next to me.

I knew she was just trying to be helpful. I offered her a smile. Judging from the crease between her eyebrows and the look of disbelief, it was about as convincing as I felt it to be. She exhaled sharply through her nose and rubbed her temples, clearly at a loss.

"Okay. I'm gonna go ahead and go to bed then. Really, don't hesitate to wake me up if you need anything."

I nodded and smiled more earnestly. "Goodnight."

Once the door closed behind her, Doctor climbed down to join me on the bed. I allowed him to curl up in my lap while I finished writing, the words I had heard so clearly flashing through my mind. I didn't know why I'd envisioned Dr. Lecter's voice in the midst of such a strangely terrifying dream. Perhaps because he was something new, and I hadn't quite managed to figure him out yet. Maybe it was just coincidence. Whatever the reason, I decided I could overlook it, if only for now.

* * *

By the end of the week I was a wreck. Every time I slept I had nightmares of a similar fashion – a forest, a field, a wooded path, a creek bed. They always involved Abigail and the same shadowy figures, the voices whispering unintelligible words, a flood or rain of blood. Sometimes I would even see her father. The result was always the same. I woke up in a sheen of sweat, kicking and screaming. I'd never had a very sound sleep schedule, but now I was trying to avoid it at all costs. I stayed up until sunrise, until I couldn't possibly keep my eyes open any longer and I passed out due to sheer exhaustion. I hardly ate when I managed to remember. It wasn't until I was sorting through one of my suitcases that I came across the business card Dr. Lecter had given me.

I turned it over a few times, staring at it for a long while. If ever there was a time to call a therapist, now was probably the time. Even I could tell that I was slipping and I hadn't even been back to work yet. I sighed and nestled myself back amongst my pillows, getting comfortable. Doctor seated himself beside my legs, stretching out with a squeak. I picked up my phone, put it down with an annoyed huff, and picked it up again a few minutes later. With a heavy sigh, I typed in the number printed on the front of the card, my thumb hovering over the call button.


	7. Chapter 7

_Hannibal sat in his office straightening out his desk after his last client had left. He was finished for the day, free to relax. The phone rang. He narrowed his eyes at the offending device. He was expecting no calls. He rounded the corner of his desk to take a seat before answering, allowing it time to ring once more._

" _Dr. Lecter speaking," he answered in a calm tone._

_There was a brief pause in which the person on the other line inhaled sharply. "Um… hi…"_

_He raised his eyebrows in surprise. He recognized her voice, but he wanted to hear her say it. "To whom am I speaking?"_

" _Oh, um… This is Keeran. Keeran Lovett? We met when… in Minnesota?"_

_He smiled lightly at her discomfort. "Yes, of course."_

" _Is now a bad time?"_

" _Not at all. What seems to be the problem?"_

_He leaned back in his chair, gazing up at one of his bookshelves. He tried to imagine what she might be doing. As a creature of habit, he supposed she would be wearing something loose, comfortable, her long braid pulled over her shoulder to twist and pull at its end. He recalled with ease the scent she brought with her._

" _I mean… You said to call you if I needed someone to talk to. It's just that… Since the incident at Abigail's house – particularly since my return home – I've been having these really vivid night terrors. Every time I fall asleep I wake up screaming, flailing, in tears… I hardly sleep anymore. I'm not sure what to do about it."_

_He made note of the changes. "Is there something different about being home?"_

_She hesitated; another behavior he made note of. "I don't get along with my roommate's boyfriend," she finally relented._

_He stiffened, pausing in his quick scrawl. "Does he give you trouble, this boyfriend?"_

_There was another moment of hesitation, during which he found himself unreasonably offended on her behalf. He took a deep breath to rid himself of the feeling._

" _No, not really. I mean he doesn't hassle me or anything, if that's what you mean. He just…" She fell silent for a moment, a door closing somewhere in the house. She swore under her breath. "I'm so sorry I don't mean to be rude," she continued in a rush. "Um… I have to go. I know I called you, but… I can't talk right now. Not anymore. So… I'm sorry. Christ, that sounded so inconsiderate… Is there a time I can come by to see you? Sometime you're not busy?"_

_He raised his eyebrows, voicing his surprise. He hadn't dared to hope it would be quite so simple. He sat up straight to arrange his papers._

" _One week from today – 6pm," he replied, barely casting a glance at his calendar. "Do not be late."_

_She heaved a sigh of relief. "Perfect. I'll be there. Thank you. Thank you so much."_

" _Of course. Take care of your mental wellbeing until then."_

_She laughed dryly. "I'll do my best."_

_He sat a moment, absorbing the new information. He had rather expected to have to instigate initial contact. That she had come to him of her own volition made it all the easier. She was in a delicate state of mind; one he had observed in patients before. There was keenness to her thoughts, perception beyond what she chose to share. He was by no means unaware to the discomfort his presence brought her. On the contrary, it was what intrigued him about her pursuit of communication. Why, if she thought for even a moment there may be something strange about him, would she move forward with it?_

* * *

Jay was sure to let me know what an inconvenience my night terrors were to him at least once every day (sometimes more). Not that I needed yet another constant reminder that I was coming apart at the seams. I took it in stride, gritting my teeth and apologizing for disturbing the household yet again. Returning to work had been just as hellish as I had imagined. It was difficult to stay focused when we were slow like this. I thought it might be better if we were busy. At least a constant stream of calls and emails would keep my mind preoccupied. I pulled myself through with the thought that I could soon speak with Dr. Lecter in person, and the hope that maybe he could advise me on what I should do. Lord help me if he thought I needed some real counseling, as was my opinion.

I packed an overnight bag and made sure to let Kayri know what was going on the day before. It felt better leaving the house than it usually did. Of course I hadn't slept yet from the previous night and that might be the coffee talking. I arrived in Baltimore earlier than I had planned, so I took the initiative to check myself into a hotel and try to calm my nerves. To be honest it did little more than rattle my cage. I paced the length of my room for several long minutes before I typed the address of his office into mapquest. As long as I was in town I may as well head on over. For some reason the sheer size of the building shocked me. The architecture was amazing. I took a few minutes to ogle the work as I lazily approached the door.

I checked the time while I wandered down the hall, setting my phone to silent. If not for the signs I would've gotten lost. With time to spare, I took up a chair and looked up at the closed door across from me. I wondered if I might be seeing more of it in the foreseeable future. I glanced up at a clock on the wall. Precisely at 6pm, the door opened; he nothing if not punctual. Hannibal greeted me with a smile, his eyes assessing me in an instant. He stepped out and to the side, gesturing for me to enter.

"Please come in," he offered.

I nodded, jaw tense, and stood to enter his office. I immediately looked around, drinking it all in. The setup reminded me of the library from Beauty and the Beast. It had a rather efficient soothing effect, though an edge to my anxiety remained.

"Please sit," he added; more of an order than a suggestion.

I obeyed, taking a seat in one of the dark leather armchairs in the center of the room. I was itching to browse his selection – moreover to climb the ladder to the second floor, if only just for fun. How was anyone supposed to focus in here? I blinked and shook my head, looking down at my hands in my lap as I wrung them. Better that than lose my wandering mind. I was uncomfortable enough just being here under the circumstances. Hannibal sat in the chair opposite mine, crossing one long leg over the other. He laced his fingers together and leaned back comfortably, his cool gaze scrutinizing my posture.

"I'm glad you decided to come in," he continued after several minutes of silence. "You seem ill at ease."

I nodded, twisting the hem of my shirt. I traced the stitching of his polished black shoes with my eyes for a few long seconds before I allowed them to drift toward his face. I wasn't sure what I was expected to say.  _Yeah, I've been pretty fucked in the head lately. I'm here for a reason_. My palms were sweating and he hadn't even started asking me questions yet. The corners of his lips twitched, a hint of amusement reaching his features at my apparent discomfort.

"You can relax," he said calmly. "There are no judgments here."

I forced a laugh, reaching up to pull the end of my braid over my shoulder. His eyes followed the movement. I wondered if he was counting all the nervous ticks I was systematically, and unavoidably, going through. With some effort, I managed to fight the urge to continue stroking the end of my braid and settled my hands calmly in my lap. It was easier to do so if I pretended I was sitting in the room alone. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. The tension in my shoulders eased slightly.

"Do you feel this level of distress often?"

His voice broke my concentration and brought me back to reality. I opened my eyes. His sharp gaze met mine, expression slightly curious, a lingering false pretense of concern. I smiled and looked around at the bookcases.

"Sometimes," I replied. "People make me uncomfortable. I don't trust them."

"Why not?"

I fixed my gaze on one of the windows, on trying to focus on the scenery beyond it. "People… lie. They're greedy. Most of them aren't worth a second glance. I don't have a lot of friends. It's not that I'm not a friendly person. I know whom I can trust. It takes time and not everyone is willing."

"Do you not trust me?"

"To an extent." I answered honestly, drawing an amused grin from him. "To be fair I don't know much about you outside of your work. You do like to keep an air of mystery about you."

He chuckled lightly. "Is that so? Perhaps I'll cook you dinner one night. My cooking will tell you more than I ever could."

I smiled and laughed politely, suddenly more aware that I hadn't eaten before coming here. Excellent. Apparently satisfied with the small talk, Hannibal fixed that predatory gaze on me again. I adjusted my seating, mentally preparing myself for a brutal forty-five minutes.

"Tell me more about your home life," he said.

I swallowed hard. I wasn't expecting him to dive right into the heart of my matters quite like that. I opened my mouth and closed it again, clearing my throat.

"What do you want to know?" I asked calmly. Something flickering across his expression told me he was taking notes on every little thing I did, everything I said, every look I gave him.

"Start off with your living arrangements. Whom do you live with?"

I nodded. "Um… I live with an old friend of mine. We were roommates in college, we've been friends since. Her brother lives in the basement. He's almost never home and he keeps to himself mostly. She's also gotten a boyfriend recently. He's living with us as well. Sometimes his children stay with us."

"How do you feel about this boyfriend?"

I laughed, taking to twisting the bottom of my shirt again. "I think that's a little bit obvious. I think he's foul. He talks down to everyone, treats them like what they have to say is unimportant and insignificant; women especially. It's kind of ironic seeing as how he's one of the most unintelligent people I have ever had the displeasure of meeting. He's a misogynist. All the while, I really just can't stand the sight of him or the sound of his voice in general. He doesn't think about anyone but himself. He's rude and inconsiderate. Worst of all is he doesn't even treat her well. He's controlling, he has a bad temper and they're always fighting. He tried to make her apologize once for raising her voice at him. I wanted to put his head through his TV screen."

"Do you feel threatened by him?"

I squirmed uncomfortably, swallowing the taste of bile in the back of my throat. "Sometimes. I mean he's never flat out threatened me but… there's something about him that I don't trust. The way he speaks to people, it's like he just doesn't have that filter normal people do that tells them what's not acceptable to say out loud. He's so… aggressive… with the way he talks. He's always on the defense and it's something I'm wary of."

He nodded. "Have you voiced your concerns to your roommate?"

I scoffed, looking down at the floor. "She knows I hate him. We've talked about it before and I've given her a list of very valid reasons that he should not be in her life. She is currently that woman who is aware that she is dating a bastard, but she'll come up with a thousand excuses for him and his behavior. She "has him under control" and she's "trying to help him work through his issues." Sometimes I think she might make him leave, but..."

I gave a strained laugh and shrugged, chewing my lip as I looked out the window again. My heart was beating so quickly it was starting to hurt.

"Keeran." His voice effectively filled the room, gaining my attention. I closed my eyes and nodded rather than look at him. "I want you to take three deep breaths. Try to calm yourself."

I counted backward from ten in the span of time it took me to slowly inhale and exhale from deep in my diaphragm. I opened my eyes and looked at him, giving a small nod of consent to continue. His calculating expression pierced me, pinning me in place like an insect stuck with a needle. I held his gaze for as long as I dared before shifting my eyes to the buttons of his waistcoat instead.

"Other than this boyfriend, what else is causing you the most stress at the moment?" Hannibal finally continued.

I sighed and rubbed my temples. "Um… any number of things, really. Work, money… I worry about my friends and I worry about my family. I can't focus at work. I don't manage my stress well and I think that's probably a big part of what my problem is. I just let it eat away at me until I'm so overwhelmed that I just… cave in."

"Have you tried any methods to cope with your rising stress levels?"

I shrugged, adjusting my seating. "Some aromatherapy… If I'm feeling especially unruly I'll try to get out of the house, spend some time away with another friend or go visit family. I jog, read, listen to music… I don't often get the chance to do so with my job is the thing, which heightens the awareness of my tension and need the to escape. Any relief I have is fleeting. He's always there."

I looked up around the room. Even now I could sense the familiar feeling of hopelessness settling over me like a veil. It was the claustrophobic fear of feeling trapped. I slouched against the back of the chair, my heart fluttering. I promised myself I wasn't going to cry on my first visit.

"It feels like I'm in a cage with no way out," I whispered, reaching for my necklace. "No matter what I do I'm just beating my wings against the bars until I'm broken…"

I blinked and wiped my cheeks, offering a feeble smile. Hannibal was frowning slightly, as though he found something bothersome.

"You feel helpless, trapped in a situation from which you desperately seek relief," he said slowly, leaning back in his chair. He watched me, gauging my reaction. "Your low self-confidence is the leading factor in your avoidance of conflict. You fear what is beyond your control therefore you do not engage."

I shifted under his intense gaze and from the accuracy of his assessment. I nodded slowly, uncertain of what to say.

"Something like that, yes," I whispered, biting the end of my thumb. "I know I don't have any right to interfere with her relationship, but at the same time it's my duty as her friend to save her from something so toxic. It's not healthy for her and it's not healthy for me." I laughed and shook my head. "It sounds so selfish… I'm sorry…"

"There is nothing selfish about helping a friend through a toxic relationship," he replied. "Sometimes an outside source is needed to see the perspective that he or she cannot. The downside being not everyone is readily open to criticism on a relationship. It may take time to see things the way you see them now." He watched me sigh in frustration, cracking my knuckles. "I understand that you are trying to save your friend the heartache of finding this out when she is more invested, but at this time all she sees is her dearest friends second guessing her decisions. If she feels as though she isn't getting the support she needs from you… you may find that she spends less time with you and more with him."

I nodded. I knew it was true and it only validated my fears, but what else could I do? I wiped my eyes. "I don't want to lose my friend, but I don't know how much longer I can stand to live there. The small glimmers of decency I see in him are completely dwarfed by the negative. It's just not worth the mental breakdown it's causing and I don't know how to… detach myself… from these emotions. I just see him doing something that irritates me and tense up. He does something else, I tense up a little more. I haven't been able to find a way to release it before it reaches that boiling point. I sit there stewing, watching the cup fill until it's overflowing. I can't bring myself to deal with it." I laughed and rubbed my tired eyes. "I try so hard not to let it bother me but I can't just sit back watching him treat her that way and let it roll off my back. I can't face him every day like he hasn't treated me like shit since we met. I don't have it in me."

The walls were closing in on me. My heart was pounding in my ears, my chest heaving as I gasped frantically for air. I sunk against the back of the chair and squeezed my eyes shut, clawing at the arms of the chair for something to hold onto. My head was light and spinning. I felt like I was going to float away. I coughed and choked, struggling against the fire burning in my chest. Hannibal hooked a firm arm around my chest, placing his other across my forehead, presumably to hold my head still. Left hand gripping the chair back, he pinned me in place. Things were a little hazy. I must have been thrashing about. I opened my eyes and tried to focus on what he was saying while forcing myself to slow my breathing.

"That's better," he said softly. "Calm yourself. Relax your breathing. You are in no danger. I am restraining you for your own safety. You've had a mild seizure."

I took another deep breath and nodded. The incident seemed to open a floodgate. I hadn't even gotten my breathing under control before I was sobbing uncontrollably (and rather loudly, at that). I wished he would let me go so I could just curl up in a ball and hide my face. If anything his grip on me tightened.

"Let me go," I choked out weakly. "Please let me go."

"I will release you once you have composed yourself," he replied, cool and calm as ever.

I could almost feel the vibration of his voice tingle down the back of my neck. I shivered and sniffled, involuntarily fighting his hold. He was strong. I had already concluded as much, if the width of his shoulders was any proper indication. It took me several seconds to muddle through the panic I felt before I was able to release the tension in my muscles. Once I had slumped against the back of the chair, Hannibal slowly loosened his grip on me and took up my wrist to check my pulse. I reached for a tissue with my free hand, avoiding his gaze as we sat in relative silence once more. I opted to watch his hands instead, waiting patiently for him to finish. He reached for something in a pocket of his jacket.

"May I?" he asked, gesturing to my face.

I blinked and nodded, snapping out of my trance. I wasn't sure what he meant. I saw the pen in his hand and for a moment wondered what it was I had given him permission to do. He shone a small bright light in my eyes, staring long and hard. I tried to avoid staring back, though if he was checking my pupils it was difficult not to. The corners of his mouth turned up as I squirmed under the intensity.

"Follow my finger," he directed.

I did as I was told, more than a little certain that he was enjoying this a bit too much. After several long minutes, he seemed satisfied enough to leave me be. He patted my hand in what I imagined was meant to be a reassuring way. His hand lingered, giving mine a squeeze when I continued to avoid his gaze. I looked up at him reluctantly, to which he responded with one of his slight, amused smiles. I found it irritating, and perhaps he saw that. His smile widened a fraction.

"You've done well today," he told me, releasing his grip on my hand to stand up and straighten out his suit. I watched him slip casually into his chair across from me, fold one long leg over the other as though the incident had never occurred. "You've given me a great deal of insight. Do you mind my asking how long you've had seizures?"

I sighed and closed my eyes to rub my temples. "About… eight years? They started just after my nineteenth birthday so… it's been a while."

"What do you find aggravates your condition?"

I pursed my lips, looking around at the bookshelves again. They seemed to be more distracting in this room than anything else. "Anxiety. Stress. Frustration. Pretty much how I feel all the time. It stifles and suffocates me until I can't breathe and…" I laughed and shook my head, looking back at him. "I know I'm not crazy. I'm not. But I can understand what drives people mad living in a house like that… living this way."

Hannibal un-steepled his fingers and sat forward, looking at me seriously. "I'd like for you to make a conscious effort to leave the house more frequently – go for a jog, a walk in the park, go… sit and read a book somewhere new. I think you may find that if you spend less time at home, the feeling that you are trapped will ease."

I nodded slowly, considering the advice. It was easier said than done. Home in room was the only thing that really felt safe to me anymore. He pushed on, seemingly reading my mind.

"Tell me more about these night terrors."

I reached for my braid, thought better of it, and lowered my hands back to my lap. I could tell he was still clocking my movements.

"They started more or less immediately after the incident in Minnesota," I started off carefully. "They weren't quite this severe, but the nightmare is always relatively the same. There's a wooded area, voices whispering, indiscernible shadows, I wind up covered in blood. I wake up screaming. Kayri is very understanding, but lord knows Jay is giving me hell for it."

A crease formed between his eyebrows. He appraised me for a moment with a serious expression. "Do not ever allow someone to make you feel bad about something that is beyond your control."

I looked away, shocked at the hostility he had done little to hide in his voice. It took me a moment to gather a proper response.

"I'm not the type of person to speak up when someone says something that bothers me," I muttered. "I'm more of the… suffer in silence type. I've spent my whole life trying not to step on anyone's toes, trying to make anyone uncomfortable, not to hurt anyone's feelings. Those are things that I don't like to experience. Why would I want to inflict that on anyone else?"

In the silence that followed, I looked up. Hannibal was watching me, head tilted to the side. I couldn't quite read his expression, and it made me uncomfortable. I blinked and looked away again. Hopefully he would take the hint.

"Try to look past this view the next time he is abrasive with you," he suggested. "I understand that you do not want to cause injury to someone who has caused you no harm. However, this man – Jay, is it? – puts no thought into his words. The next time he says something offensive to you, simply tell him you will not allow him to speak to you this way."

Again, it was easier said than done. I nodded to satisfy him. Judging by the sharpness in his eyes, he didn't for half a second believe me. He leaned back in his chair, watching me a moment longer. In that instant, I saw that predatory leanness that had eased return. I swallowed involuntarily, the palms of my hands sweating.

"Sadly, you will not always get the respect that you deserve in life," he said slowly, looking out the window with a thoughtful expression. "In some instances it is better to be feared than respected."

I grinned despite the chill running down my spine. "That doesn't sound like very good psychiatric advice."

"No, it doesn't." He looked back at me, softening the coldness of his words hanging in the air with a more charming smile. "This advice I would give to you as a friend."

Of this I was skeptical, but said nothing. Instead I nodded.

"In your professional opinion," I asked slowly, "should I be seeking help?"

"Is that not what you are doing?"

I gave him a sarcastic look. "You know what I mean. Do I need to be seeing someone on a regular basis, be on medication, something like that?"

He took a deep breath, thinking it over for a moment. "No. I believe what you need is someone who will listen to your problems with an unbiased opinion and offer you reasonable alternatives." He stood, a hint of tease in his expression. "Meeting here would also give you reason to leave the house for a suitable amount of time."

I laughed and shook my head, lifting out of my chair to shake his hand. "Thank you." I frowned, unable to hide my confusion. "Are you my doctor then, or…?"

He led me to the door. "I wouldn't say so yet. We shall see. Same time next week. Drive safely, Keeran."

"Goodnight."

I left him in the doorway, feeling quite flustered and still very confused. I had a feeling I would be leaving his office in much the same way with all my visits.


	8. Chapter 8

Following Hannibal's "suggestions," I found myself on a trail near the house. I'd been getting out as much as possible the last few days, though it had done little to soothe the nightmares. I wasn't easily fooled into thinking they would go away just like that. After speaking with my sister (and ignoring her pleas not to do so) I had taken the initiative to bite the bullet and do my proper research on the case Mr. Hobbs was being linked to. I couldn't muddle through half of it. Lord if it wasn't the most gruesome thing I could imagine for a family I had once been so close to – that my grandmother spent so much time with. Some horrid reporter had taken photographs inside the Hobbs' cabin, obviously without the express permission of the police or anyone else, and posted them all over some tacky blog she ran. It was incorrigible, exploiting them this way. If I was this traumatized, I couldn't begin to imagine how Abigail would feel when she woke up. I snapped a photo of the setting sun peeking through the trees. The music in my ears calmed my nerves, though it didn't entirely force away all of my disturbing thoughts. One in particular seemed to stick.

What if Abigail had something do with her father's crimes?

It was ridiculous to think and I felt terrible as soon as it even crossed my mind, but a lot of time had passed. I never would have imagined Mr. Hobbs was capable of such atrocities, but here we were. Who was I to say she wasn't? I shook my head, squeezing my camera so hard it hurt my fingers. I wasn't prepared to make that kind of judgment against her. The more I lingered on the possibility, the more I came to realize that I wasn't entirely sure I wouldn't come to her defense. It was this thought that worried me. If I knew she was involved and I didn't come forward, it would be a world of trouble for me. I sighed and pinched the bridge of my nose. I was getting ahead of myself.

I headed back toward the house, an intensifying fear lingering at my back with the growing darkness. I fought the urge to run, taking my time instead. My heart pumped hard, throbbing uncomfortably under my jaw. I hadn't gone far. I would be back to the road any moment now. The thought did little to dissuade my eyes from darting through the foliage on high alert. Still lacking sleep, it was easy for my mind to play tricks on me. I gripped my camera tighter, clutching it to my chest. My feet slowed to a clumsy pace as my wide eyes chased shadows that weren't there. I told myself to breathe. There was nothing out here to be afraid of. It was all in my head. I jumped at the dark form skirting the edges of my peripherals. I spun to follow the movement; I saw nothing now. I blinked hard and shook my head, pinching the bridge of my nose.

"There's nothing there," I whispered. "You're safe here…"

A branch snapped somewhere in the forest. The way it echoed in the silence made it impossible to tell where it came from. Adrenaline exploded through my veins like fire. I nearly swallowed my tongue in fright as I took off sprinting down the path, spraying gravel out behind me in my wake. A wave of relief crashed down on me when I broke free of the forest, though I didn't stop running until I had crossed the street, rounded the corner, and found solace on my stoop. I held the stitch in my side, panting and shaking, and looked back to the trees swaying calmly in the evening breeze. I swore under my breath and wiped the tears off my cheeks. I felt like I was going to be sick. Jay was sitting in the living room drinking a beer and watching some reality show. I passed straight through and went to my room, closing the door behind me. I kicked off my shoes and curled up on my bed. Doctor jumped down off my bookcase to get some attention. I let him cuddle with me, closing my eyes. I was grateful he was affectionate. I welcomed the distraction he brought.

When the feeling returned to my legs and my body had stopped quivering, I emerged from my room to find something to eat. I turned from the cupboards to retrieve the water pitcher from the fridge. Jay was standing in the hallway across the room from me. I jumped, dropping the glass in my hand. It shattered on the floor at my feet. I squeezed my eyes shut and ran my fingers through my hair, attempting to force my nerves into submission. I took out my ear buds and looked at him expectantly.

"Can you hand me the broom please?" I asked.

I bit my tongue, frustrated with the waiver in my voice. He stared at me blankly for a few seconds longer before passing it to me. I stretched to reach it, careful not to take a step.

"Did you need something?" I continued while I swept.

"You still having issues with sleep?" he asked, watching the broom pass over the shards of glass.

I paused. "The night terrors? Yes… Why?"

"Are you doin anything about it? I mean I'm supposed to have my kids and I can't bring them over with you like this every day."

I looked from the dustpan up to him. How much effort would it take to lodge a chunk of glass right in the side of his neck? I blinked, finished scooping up every small sliver I could see, and dumped it in the trash. I looked at him again, seriously considering beating him with the broom in my hands. I swallowed hard, forcing down the voice telling me to let it go. I thought about what Dr. Lecter had suggested. The burning anger in the back of my mind surged.

"I don't think that's really any of your business," I replied tartly, placing the broom back in its proper place. I turned to get a new cup (making an executive decision to grab a plastic one). "This is my issue and I'm working on it. It's not going to just disappear. If I can be honest, I would appreciate it if you would stop giving me shit about it. I'm aware that it's disturbing the household. Trust me when I say as bothered as you are, it is nothing compared to the way I feel."

He raised his eyebrows in surprise, but otherwise said nothing. He watched me for a moment – sizing me up, it felt like. "All right, it's cool," he finally conceded. "I was just asking. No need to make a big deal out of it."

He returned to the living room, leaving me glaring at his retreating form. Regardless, I smirked to myself triumphantly; small victories.

* * *

By the time I was leaving for my next appointment with Dr. Lecter I was welcoming the reprieve in ways I couldn't put into words. In the days since I had taken a stand against Jay, things had only gotten worse. If I had thought for even half a second that things might change, I had never been more wrong. He was more than willing to make me twice as uncomfortable as he had been before. It was clear to me now that he was really putting effort into it. The first incident I had brushed off as him just being him. I had just cooked dinner – that in of itself was a big step, as I had hardly been doing anything that I really wanted to do or enjoyed. He had just come home from god knows where. He didn't hesitate to ask if I was going to make him a plate. I was already eating at the table and paused to look at him like he was ridiculous.

"I hadn't planned to," I replied.

He nodded, muttering something under his breath as he made one himself. He took a few bites, frowning at the food on his plate.

"Did you season this?" he asked.

I stopped again to glance at him. "Season what? The meat?" He nodded. "I don't know… I don't think so."

"Oh." He smiled and laughed. "You supposed to season it. People in my family always season it. It's still good."

I smiled at him sweetly. "I meant to. Must have slipped my mind."

I suddenly wished I had made his plate so I could have spit in it. There were similar instances in which he made jabs at my food. Sometimes he came to stand behind me while I was cooking, watching over my shoulder while I worked. If I ventured into the living room to attempt to watch TV, he would come out to sit and talk through the entire show until I was frustrated enough to give up and go back to my room. Something told me it was only going to go downhill from here. I felt like I couldn't tell Kayri about it. Worst of all, I knew that he could sense how effective his behavior was and he was thriving off it. I exhaled slowly and eased my grip on the steering wheel.  _Save it_.

Again, I arrived early enough to allow myself a few minutes in the waiting room to gather and separate my thoughts. I stood instinctively when the door opened, though it wasn't Hannibal to walk out. Instead emerged the man I recognized from the Hobbs residence – Will Graham. My stomach clenched involuntarily at the memory. He hesitated when he saw me. I could see the connection forming in his mind, sense the same internal debate of whether or not it was improper to greet each other in this setting. Dr. Lecter appeared behind him a moment later, presumably to see what the holdup was.

"Keeran," he greeted. "You're early."

I felt like I was being scolded. I had only been sitting there for a couple of minutes.

"I thought it best to be a few minutes early rather than be late," I replied, looking from him back to Will Graham.

I averted my eyes to the doorframe. I felt like I was being rude staring at him. I couldn't help it. I had to bite my tongue to hold back all the questions burning at the back of my throat.

"You were there."

I shifted my eyes back to Will. I nodded once. "I was. You're the man that shot Mr. Hobbs."

He returned the same nod. "I am."

Something about him felt… broken. He didn't appear to be handling the incident well. I didn't know what else to say. Everything I had wanted to ask suddenly slipped away.

"I'm sorry," I blurted out. Upon seeing his confusion, I scrambled to reassess what I wanted to say. "That it played out that way, I mean. I'm sorry it was your responsibility."

He seemed to understand what I was trying to say. He smiled halfheartedly and nodded. "Thank you." He turned to acknowledge Dr. Lecter. "I'll be in touch."

I watched him until he disappeared around the corner.

"Are you ready?" Dr. Lecter asked, drawing my attention back to him.

I blinked and took a breath, clearing my head. I nodded and stepped past him into his office. I shed my jacket, which Dr. Lecter took from me to hang on his coat rack by the door. I automatically took the same seat I had previously, deflating in the softness of the cushy chair with a sigh. He followed after, sinking into his own chair, folding his long legs one over the other.

"Any improvements since I saw you last?" he asked, clasping his hands in his lap.

Curiosity showed in his features, which had yet to switch to the thinly veiled malice I saw so frequently. I smiled weakly and tucked my bangs behind my ear.

"Things weren't as bad for a while," I started off, taking to looking around his office. "I listened to your advice. I got out as often as I could force myself to, walked the trail, stuff like that."

I remembered the last time I had been out on the trail and shuddered involuntarily. He tilted his head to the side at the gesture, but made no mention of it.

"What changed?" he pressed.

I smirked and looked back to him, holding his gaze steady for what might be the first time since we'd met.

"Jay's still trying to make me feel bad about my night terrors. He asked me if I was getting help because he didn't feel like he could bring his children over. I told him it was none of his business and I would appreciate it if he would stop asking me about it. He hasn't mentioned it since."

He smiled and gave a nod of approval. "I hesitantly congratulate you. Forgive me, but there seems to be something bothering you still."

I twisted the hem of my shirt, falling into my nervous habits. "Since that moment he's been making a show of causing me as much discomfort as possible."

He frowned. "How do you mean?"

I barked out a laugh. "He's been living there long enough to know how what makes me uncomfortable, the little things that irritate me. I've been venturing into the front room just to get out of my room some. It never fails, every time I'm out there he'll stop what he's doing to come sit out there and question what I'm watching, what I'm doing, when it's going to be over. It doesn't end. Eventually it wears me down and I'll just retreat back to my room. I know he's only doing it to bother me because as soon as I'm gone, he goes back to what he was doing. He started complaining about my cat again. If I'm cooking in the kitchen, he'll come stand right behind me and just… hover… watching over my shoulder. Like that's not bad enough, he's always asking me if I'm going to prepare a plate for him – like I'm supposed to because I'm a woman and that's my job – and then when he actually gets to eating, he insults my food. God help me if I don't cook anything. He acts like I'm not even a human being."

Dr. Lecter paused for a moment to take a breath. "I'm sorry to hear that, Keeran. I rather hoped your defense would improve the household."

He didn't smile, but the corners of his eyes crinkled. It made me doubt his sincerity. I smiled glumly and nodded nonetheless. I looked out the tall windows at the slowly fading sunlight.

"Do you mind if I walk around while we talk?" I asked, gesturing around the room. "I feel like I've been more confined than usual. Ironic, really."

"By all means."

I stood, my feet immediately taking me to one of the bookcases. I ran my fingers up the wood of the ladder.

"Sleep is becoming more of an issue," I continued, eyes roaming the rows of books. I crossed my arms so my hands wouldn't wander. "It's more… sporadic. Some days I'll sleep twelve or more hours. Most often I don't sleep for days at a time, with the exception of a nap or two throughout the day – maybe an hour tops. When I do sleep, I wake frequently. I've never been a very sound sleeper – very restless, waking throughout the night. This is different. If I wake up, I can't just roll over and go back to sleep. I wake up and I'm up for an hour, sometimes more. Sometimes I'll wake up feeling like I've been running from something." A shadow in the corner of the room caught my eye. I looked over out of habit and shook my head. There was nothing there. I pinched the bridge of my nose. "It's hard to relax when your body isn't getting the rest it needs. The tension is unbearable."

"How long has it been since you slept?"

I lazily crossed to one of the windows, failingly horribly to ignore the shadows traipsing after me in my peripherals.

"Almost three days."

"With this lack of sleep, do you ever hallucinate?"

I glanced back at him, cringing visibly, I was sure, at the way the shadows I had grown accustomed to seeing lingered around his form as he stuck his hands in his pockets and crossed the room toward me. I turned back to the window to avoid the sight, focusing on the sunset instead.

"Sometimes. Nothing of real substance; the same sort of shadowy figures I see in my nightmares."

His reflection appeared behind mine in the window, trapping me in place. I tensed, holding back the flinching motion, if only just. His lips twitched.

"It is not uncommon for the sleep deprived to suffer from visual or auditory hallucinations. Have you tried any over the counter sleeping pills?"

I shook my head. "I have an appointment with my neurologist the day after tomorrow to discuss it. I need to know if it's safe to take any with my medication."

He looked away thoughtfully, wandering over to the bookcase I had previously been browsing. "Perhaps you could try natural supplements? L-theanine is the active ingredient in green teas proven to induce relaxation. In its concentrated form, it's been shown assist those with insomnia in falling asleep and staying asleep longer. Perhaps an herbal tea with valerian root derivatives could help. Both are alternative routes to consider."

I nodded absentmindedly, watching a flock of birds flit to and fro. I heaved a heavy sigh and finally turned my attention back to him. He was watching me from his spot by the bookshelf, dark eyes appraising me from a distance.

"Do you mind if I ask you a question?" I said slowly, crossing to the bookshelf but keeping space between us.

He smiled faintly. "Ask away."

"What kind of work do you do with the FBI exactly?"

He mulled the question over for a moment before carefully selecting his words. "Light consultation work. As a psychiatrist I am able to offer a unique insight into the mind of serial killers – profile them, establish a pattern of thought, and predict behaviors to aid in catching criminals."

I acknowledged his response, looking to the balcony around the room. I wanted to ask what Will Graham did for the FBI, but doubted he would discuss that with me.

"Is that what you were doing with Mr. Hobbs?" I asked instead, stepping forward to focus on the spine of a bright blue book. I honed in on the texture of the leather, the brightness of the gold lettering. "Profiling him? Telling the FBI things about him that no one else knew?"

In the silence that followed, I fought the urge to look at him. I clasped my hands behind my back tightly.

"Will Graham was consulting on the Hobbs case," Dr. Lecter said simply. "I was consulting Will Graham."

I stiffened, pulling my eyes away from the book in front of me to look at him curiously. The corners of his eyes crinkled, voicing the amusement his lips hid. I was sure he simply meant that he was working  _with_  Will, but it almost sounded like he was suggesting that he was treating him,  _profiling him_. Was there something about Will Graham that denoted he might require psychological assistance? Not that I had any room to judge, but I couldn't help the thoughts blossoming in my mind. Realizing my mouth was open in preparation to speak, I quickly snapped it shut and nodded. The nervous tension in my body was starting to make my muscles ache. I closed my eyes and exhaled slowly, rubbing my temples for several long seconds. I was getting a migraine.

" _See_ ," a voice whispered harshly.

It sounded distant, as though echoing down a long corridor. I squeezed my eyes shut tighter. It was the first time I had been able to pull anything of substance from the muddle of voices I heard. Now it jumped out at me with biting clarity, hissing in my ears. It made my skin prickle and I wasn't sure why. My knees shook. I reached for the bookcase to steady myself, breathing shallow. I struggled to pull myself back to reality.

"Keeran."

A deep voice near my ear sent a shiver down my spine, the hand on my shoulder igniting a primal fear that spread throughout my body. My eyes snapped open and I spun around, balling up my fist as I instinctively lashed out to protect myself. I stood breathing heavily for several long seconds before the ringing in my ears faded and I realized what I had done. I paled slightly. Dr. Lecter was cradling his jaw, a small cut on his bottom lip (presumably from my ring) slowly oozing blood. He looked surprised by my reaction, though I wouldn't say alarmed in the least. I clapped a hand over my mouth in mortification.

"Oh God," I muttered, pinching the bridge of my nose. "I'm so sorry Dr. Lecter. You're bleeding."

I darted over to one of the tables to grab a tissue, trying to gauge how angry he was as I looked up at him. His expression was calm, his eyes surveying my movements. I swallowed hard, hesitating.

* * *

_Hannibal could see it in her eyes – the fear of his reaction. He took slow, deep breaths to recollect himself, ignoring the burning ache in his face where she had stricken him. Her continued resistance to addressing him by his first name only added insult to injury. He watched her internal struggle - the widening of her eyes, the habitual chewing of her lip. Finally, she spoke._

" _Do you mind?" she asked, gesturing to his face._

_He nodded his consent, watching her closely. She kept as much space between them as possible as she reached out to carefully dab at the corner of his lip. He flinched overdramatically at the touch. Her shame was visible in the increasing flush at her ears and neck. The rest of her face remained drained of color, horrified by her own actions._

" _I'm sorry," she repeated quietly, staring at the small split in his lip where her ring had caught him. "I don't know what came over me. I'm not normally a violent person."_

" _Anyone may become violent under the right circumstances," he replied. She paused to look up at him. "You haven't slept for nearly 48 hours. Your current state of mind is understandably a bit lacking."_

_She nodded, looking more embarrassed by the second. The dark circles beneath her eyes were the first telltale sign that she hadn't been sleeping well. On top of her usual nervous habits, her eyes never seemed to fully focus on one thing, flitting about from one corner of the room to the next. Up until this point she had appeared relatively in control despite the hallucinations she was suffering from and the obvious effect they were having on both her sleep patterns and her conscious mind. Now her countenance was crumbling like so many pieces of brittle clay. She stepped away to dispose of the tissue she had been using to clean his face. Her body quivered from anxiety and sleep deprivation. She retrieved her coat, flicking it over her shoulders and sliding her arms into the sleeves in one fluid motion. She wrapped her arms around herself, eyes straying to his feet._

" _I should go," she said, more to herself than to him._

_Hannibal watched her for several long seconds, tucking his hands into his pockets. It would be beneficial to keep her here at least long enough to collect herself, to keep her talking._

" _There's no need," he said, nonchalant as he crossed the room to stand beside his chair. Her body stiffened at the movement whether she meant it to or not. "Sit. Take a moment to relax before you get behind the wheel. I do hope you're not making the drive home tonight?"_

_She let out a deep sigh and sank into the chair across from him. "No. I got a room for the night." Her voice shook, though not nearly as much as her body. She rubbed her eyes and laughed drily. "Not that I, you know… sleep much…"_

" _How frequently do you experience anxiety attacks?"_

_She closed her eyes, doing her best to relax the tension from her body. She was doing a poor job of it._

" _Once a week maybe; sometimes more, sometimes less." She paused to consider a thought, watching him silently for several seconds before she continued. "I've been researching the Shrike case – what they think Mr. Hobbs is guilty of."_

_He raised his eyebrows, moving to languidly slip into his chair. "And what have you found?"_

_She shook her head. "Too much information to sift through. I found a blog run by some reporter who is obviously not going through the proper venues, but she had a lot more facts than any other articles I came across." Her brow was furrowed, her eyes glazing slightly as she twisted her shirt and locked onto a spot on the floor near his chair. "She had pictures of their cabin," she continued in a soft voice. "I was supposed to go there at the end of that summer. Mr. Hobbs invited me, but I got the flu and had to stay home." She sat back, tilting her head to the side thoughtfully. "I wonder if he would have killed me back then…"_

_He watched her, assessing the changes in her body language. She seemed less ill at ease when the focus wasn't directly on her. Her foot continued to bounce nervously, but the tension in her shoulders had eased, if only slightly._

" _Thankfully that is a question you will never have to know the answer to," he replied, briefly addressing the notion._

_She nodded, acknowledging that she had heard him. Still, the thoughts churning in her head were nearly tangible. She ran her tongue across her lips, focusing on the ring. His eyes were drawn to the motion. She breathed a heavy sigh, dragging her hands down her face before she looked back to him and pasted on a tense smile._

" _Thank you. I'll look into the herbal supplements you suggested. Hopefully I'll be better rested and less of a space case by the time next week rolls around." She hesitated, eyes darting to his lips almost sheepishly. "If you'd still like me to come back, that is."_

_He smiled slowly and rose to his feet. "You won't scare me away so easily, Keeran. Tuesday of next week – same time."_

_She fumbled a moment at the change of day, but didn't object. She stood and obediently followed him to the door. "I'll see you then."_

_His smile broadened. "Drive safely."_


End file.
